v\ 


FRED  M. 

liOOKSKI.I.R 


"SHE  LOOKED  AT  HIM  A  LONG  MOMENT  WITH  FIXED  EYES  " 


The  Hundred 

and    Other    Stories 

By    GERTRUDE 

WITH     ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW     YORK     AND     LONDON 

HARPER    &     BROTHERS     PUBLISHERS 

1898 


»• 

,   :  :  ^f'J- «**"••     •  ^*       : 

:- ;  f*jr«*:».*  •:!-£-:.*'*%•' 


Copyright,  1898,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reserved. 


TO 

MY    MOTHER 


405788 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

I 


THE  HUNDRED 

THE  PASSING  OF  SPRING 59 

PAULA  IN  ITALY IO4 

DORASTUS T42 

CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 204 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


1  SHE  LOOKED   AT  HIM  A  LONG   MOMENT 

WITH  FIXED  EYES" Frontispiece 

' SHE  LET  BONNET  HAVE  ONE  OF  HER 

ARMS" Facing  page  6 

'AT  LAST  THEY  WERE  GONE"  ...  IO 

'  PAULA  HERSELF  SAT  BY  THE  WINDOW  "  "  ISO 


THE     HUNDRED 
AND      OTHER      STORIES 


THE    HUNDRED 


MRS.  DARLING  was  dining  from  home, 
and  every  heart  in  her  little  establishment 
rejoiced  over  the  circumstance,  for  it  meant 
less  work  for  everybody,  with  an  opportunity 
to  enjoy  Christmas  Eve  on  his  own  account. 

Mrs.  Bonnet,  the  lady's  -  maid,  with  the 
plans  she  had  in  mind  for  the  evening,  was 
scarcely  annoyed  at  all  when  her  mistress 
scolded  because  the  corset-lace  had  got  itself 
in  a  knot. 

The  chamber  was  full  of  a  delicate  odor  of 
iris.  The  gas -globes  at  the  ends  of  their 
jointed  gold  arms  looked  like  splendid  yel 
low  pearls  ;  on  the  dressing-table  under  them 
glittered  a  quantity  of  highly  embossed  silver 
ware,  out  of  all  reasonable  proportion  with 
the  little  person  owning  it,  who  sat  before 


•  .';.  .THE     HUNDRED 

the  mirror  beautifying  her  finger-nails  while 
Mrs.  Bonnet  did  her  hair. 

"  Mind  what  you  are  about,"  the  mistress 
murmured,  diligently  polishing. 

Mrs.  Bonnet  instantly  removed  the  hot 
tongs  from  the  tress  she  was  twisting,  and 
caught  it  again  with  greater  precaution. 

"  Mind  what  you  are  about,"  warned  Mrs. 
Darling,  somewhat  louder,  a  beginning  of 
acid  in  her  voice. 

Mrs.  Bonnet  again  disengaged  the  hair 
from  the  tongs,  and  after  a  little  pause,  dur 
ing  which  to  make  firm  her  nerve,  with  infi 
nite  solicitude  took  hold  again  of  the  golden 
strand,  and  would  have  waved  it,  but — 

"  Mind  what  you  are  about !"  almost 
screamed  little  Mrs.  Darling.  "  Didn't  I  tell 
you  to  be  careful?  You  have  been  pulling 
right  along  at  the  same  hair !  Do  consider 
that  it  is  a  human  scalp,  and  not  a  wig  you 
are  dealing  with  !  Bonny,  you  are  not  a  bad 
woman,  but  you  will  wear  me  out.  Come, 
go  on  with  it ;  it  is  getting  late." 

Before  the  hair-dressing  was  accomplished 
Mrs.  Darling  rolled  up  her  eyes — her  blue 


THE    HUNDRED 

eyes,  round  and  angelic  as  they  could  some 
times  be — at  the  reflection  of  Mrs.  Bonnet's 
face  in  the  mirror,  and  said,  meekly :  "  Bon 
ny,  do  you  think  that  black  moire  of  mine 
would  make  over  nicely  for  you  ?  I  am  going 
to  give  it  to  you.  No,  don't  thank  me — it 
makes  me  look  old.  Now  my  slippers." 

While  Bonnet  was  forcing  the  shoe  on  her 
fat  little  foot,  Mrs.  Darling's  glance  rested, 
perhaps  by  chance,  on  a  photograph  that 
leaned  against  the  clock  over  the  mantel 
piece.  It  was  that  of  a  still  young,  well- 
looking  man,  whose  face  wore  an  unmis 
takable  look  of  goodness,  of  the  kind  that 
made  it  what  one  expected  to  read  under  it 
in  print — the  Rev.  Dorel  Goodhue.  There 
was  another  more  conspicuous  man -photo 
graph  in  the  room,  on  the  dressing-table,  in 
a  massive  frame  that  matched  the  toilet  ac 
cessories.  It  stood  there  always,  airing  a 
photographic  smile  among  the  brushes  and 
hand-glasses  and  pin-boxes. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Darling,  while  she 
braced  herself  against  Bonnet  to  help  get 
the  small  shoe  on — "  I  suppose  I  have  a  very 
3 


THE    HUNDRED 

bad  temper!"  and  she  laughed  in  such  a  sen 
sible,  natural,  good-natured  way  any  one 
must  have  felt  that  her  exhibition  of  a  mo 
ment  before  had  been  a  sort  of  joke.  "  Tell 
the  truth,  Bonny :  if  every  mistress  had  to 
have  a  certificate  from  her  maid,  you  would 
give  me  a  pretty  bad  one,  wouldn't  you? 
But  I  was  abominably  brought  up.  I  used 
to  slap  my  governesses.  And  I  have  had 
all  sorts  of  illnesses ;  trouble,  too.  And  I 
mostly  don't  mean  anything  by  it.  It  is  just 
nerves.  Poor  Bonny!  I  treat  you  shamefully, 
don't  I  ?" 

"  Oh,  ma'am,"  said  the  lady's-maid,  ex 
panding  in  the  light  of  this  uncommon  fa 
miliarity,  "  I  would  give  you  a  character  as 
would  make  it  no  difficulty  in  you  getting  a 
first-class  situation  right  away ;  you  may  de 
pend  upon  it,  ma'am,  I  would.  Don't  this 
shoe  seem  a  bit  tight,  ma'am  ?" 

"  Not  at  all.  It  is  a  whole  size  larger  than 
I  wear.  If  you  would  just  be  so  good  as 
to  hold  the  shoe-horn  properly.  There,  that 
is  it." 

She  stood  before  the  bed,  on  which  were 

4 


THE    HUNDRED 

spread  two  long  evening  dresses.  A  little 
King  Charles  spaniel  had  made  himself  com 
fortable  in  the  softest  of  one.  His  mistress 
pounced  on  him  with  a  cry,  first  curled,  then 
kissed  and  put  him  down.  "  Which  shall  I 
wear?"  she  asked. 

Bonnet  drew  back  for  a  critical  view,  but 
dared  not  suggest  unprompted. 

"  The  black  and  white  is  more  becoming, 
but  the  violet  crape  is  prettier.  Oh,  Bonny, 
decide  quickly  for  me,  like  a  tossed-up  pen 
ny  !" 

"  Well,  I  think  now  I  should  say  the  vio 
let,  ma'am." 

"  Should  you?"  Mrs.  Darling  mused,  with 
a  finger  against  her  lip.  "  But  I  look  less 
well  in  it.  Surely  I  had  rather  look  pretty 
myself  than  have  my  dress  look  pretty, 
hadn't  I  ?  Give  me  the  black  and  white, 
and  hurry.  Mr.  Goodhue  will  be  here  in  a 
second.  Bonnet !"  she  burst  forth,  in  quite 
another  tone.  "  You  trying  creature!  Didn't 
I  tell  you  to  put  a  draw-string  through  that 
lace?  Didn't  I  tell  you?  Where  are  your 
ears  ?  Where  are  your  senses  ?  What  on 
5 


THE    HUNDRED 

earth  do  you  spend  your  time  thinking 
about,  I  should  like  to  know,  anyway?  I 
wouldn't  wear  that  thing  as  it  is,  not  for — 
not  for —  Oh,  I  am  tired  of  living  sur 
rounded  by  fools !  Take  it  away — take  it 
away  !  Bring  the  violet !" 

At  last  she  was  encased  in  the  fluffy  violet 
crape,  and  at  sight  of  the  sweet  picture  she 
made  in  the  mirror  her  brow  cleared  a  little ; 
she  looked  baby-eyed  and  angelic  again,  with 
her  wavy  hair  meekly  parted  in  the  middle. 
While  she  looked  at  herself  she  let  Bonnet 
have  one  of  her  arms  to  button  the  long 
glove. 

"  Ouch !  Go  softly;  you  pinch  !"  she  mur 
mured. 

Bonnet  changed  her  method  with  the  sil 
ver  hook,  adjusted  it  anew,  and  pulled  at  it 
ever  so  softly. 

"  Ouch  !  You  pinch  me !"  said  Mrs.  Dar 
ling,  a  little  louder. 

Bonnet  stopped  short,  and  looked  help 
lessly  at  the  glove,  that  could  not  be  made 
to  meet  without  strain  over  the  plump 
white  wrist.  After  a  breathing- while,  with 

6 


THE    HUNDRED 

stealthy  gentleness,  again  she  fitted  the  sil 
ver  loop  over  the  button,  and,  with  a  devout 
inward  appeal  to  Heaven,  tried  to  induce  it 
through  the  button -hole.  She  had  almost 
succeeded  when  Mrs.  Darling  screamed, 
"  Ouch,  ouch,  ouch  !  You  pinch  like  any 
thing  !  I  am  black  and  blue!"  And  tear 
ing  her  arm  from  the  quaking  servant,  began 
fidgeting  with  the  button  herself,  soon  pull 
ing  it  off. 

"  Bonnet,  how  many  times  must  I  tell  you 
to  sew  the  buttons  fast  on  my  gloves  before 
you  give  them  me  to  put  on  ?"  she  asked, 
severely.  "  No,  they  were  not !"  she  stormed, 
and  peeled  off  the  glove,  throwing  it  far 
from  her,  inside  out. 

There  was  a  knock,  and  a  respectful  voice 
saying,  outside  the  door,  "  Mr.  Goodhue  is 
below,  ma'am." 

"  Get  a  needle,"  Mrs.  Darling  said,  hum 
bly,  like  a  child  reminded  of  its  promise  to 
behave,  and  waited  patiently  while  the  but 
ton  was  sewed  on,  and  held  out  her  arm 
again,  letting  Bonnet  pinch  without  a  mur 
mur. 

7 


THE    HUNDRED 

A  final  bunch  of  violets  was  tucked  in  the 
bosom  of  her  gown,  and  she  was  leaving  the 
bedroom,  when,  as  if  at  a  sudden  thought, 
she  turned  back,  went  to  the  door  of  a  little 
room  leading  from  it,  and  stood  looking  in. 

"Aren't  they  lovely,  the  hundred  of  them?" 
she  gushed.  "  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  sight? 
One  prettier  than  the  other !  I  almost  wish 
I  were  one  of  the  little  girls  myself!" 

"  Them  that  gets  them  will  be  made  hap 
py,  sure,  ma'am.  I  suppose  it's  for  some 
Christmas-tree  ?" 

"  They  are  for  my  cousin  Dorel's  orphans. 
Pick  up,  Bonny.  Open  the  windows.  Mind 
you  keep  Jetty  with  you.  Don't  let  him  go 
into  the  kitchen.  I  am  sure  they  feed  him.  I 
shall  not  be  very  late — not  later  than  twelve." 

Mrs.  Darling  went  down  the  stairs,  fol 
lowed  by  Bonnet  with  her  mantle  and  fan, 
and  Jetty,  who  leaped  and  yapped  in  the  de 
lusion  that  he  was  going  to  be  taken  for  a 
walk. 

The  gentleman  waiting  below  came  for 
ward  to  take  Mrs.  Darling's  hand. 

Mrs.  Bonnet  listened  to  the  exchange  of 


THE    HUNDRED 

polite  expressions  between  them  with  no 
small  degree  of  impatience ;  it  seemed  to 
her  they  might  just  as  well  have  made  these 
communications  later,  in  the  carriage. 

At  last  and  at  last  they  were  gone. 
With  the  clap  of  the  door  behind  them  the 
whole  atmosphere  of  the  house  changed  as 
by  enchantment.  A  door  slammed  some 
where  ;  a  voice  burst  out  singing  below- 
stairs ;  the  man  in  livery  who  had  held  the 
door  for  Mrs.  Darling  and  her  reverend  cousin 
leaned  over  the  banisters  and  shouted,  heart 
ily,  "  Catherine  !  I  say,  Catherine  !"  Mrs. 
Bonnet  fairly  scampered  up-stairs,  with  the 
mistaken  Jetty,  who  thought  this  was  the 
beginning  of  a  romp,  hard  after  her,  trying 
to  catch  her  by  the  heels. 

She  entered  Mrs.  Darling's  room  with  no 
affectation  of  soft -stepping,  threw  up  the 
window — the  sharp  outer  air  cut  into  the 
scented  warmth  like  a  silver  axe — and  began 
pushing  things  briskly  into  their  places.  She 
digressed  from  her  labors  a  moment  to  get 
from  the  closet  a  black  moire,  which  she  ex 
amined,  then  replaced. 
9 


THE    HUNDRED 

Now  came  a  rap  at  the  door,  and  a  voice 
only  a  shade  less  respectful  than  before,  say 
ing,  "  Miss  Pittock  is  waiting  below,  ma'am." 

"  Very  well,  I  will  be  down  directly,"  said 
Mrs.  Bonnet.  "  Come  here,  Jetty  !" 

Jetty,  instead  of  coming,  ran  round  and 
round  among  the  chair  legs,  waving  his  tail 
in  a  graceful  circle,  eluding  Mrs.  Bonnet's 
hand  not  by  swiftness,  but  craft. 

"  Come  here,  you  little  fool,"  muttered 
Bonnet ;  and  as  her  bidding,  however  se 
vere,  availed  nothing,  she  cast  Mrs.  Darling's 
wrapper  over  the  little  beast,  and  got  him 
entangled  like  a  black-and-tan  butterfly  in  a 
pocket-handkerchief.  She  snatched  him  up 
squirming  a  little,  tucked  him  tightly  under 
her  arm,  and  ran  up-stairs  to  her  own  cham 
ber  on  the  third  floor.  There  she  dropped 
him ;  and  when  she  had  donned  her  black 
coat  and  bonnet,  gloves  and  galoshes,  during 
which  preparations  Jetty  was  leaping  and 
yapping  like  crazy,  in  the  supposition  again 
that  they  were  going  for  a  walk  together, 
she  turned  out  the  light  and  shut  the  door 
against  his  wet,  black  nose.  His  reproach- 


AT   LAST   THEY    WERE   GONE" 


THE    HUNDRED 

ful  barks  followed  her  down  the  passage. 
"  It's  good  for  'is  lungs,"  she  said,  grimly, 
hurrying  over  the  stairs. 

And  here  at  the  foot  was  Miss  Pittock, 
looking  quite  more  than  the  lady  in  her  mis 
tress's  last  year's  cape. 

"  I  hope  I  haven't  kept  you  waiting,  Miss 
Pittock." 

"  Quite  the  contrary ;  don't  mention  it, 
Mrs.  Bonnet.  Oh,  the  shops  is  a  sight  to 
behold,  Mrs.  Bonnet !  I  never  seen  any. 
thing  like  this  year.  It  do  seem  as  if  peo 
ple  made  more  to-do  than  they  used  about 
Christmas,  don't  it?  Are  we  ready,  Mrs. 
Bonnet?" 

"  I  am  if  you  are,  Miss  Pittock." 

"  Now,  what  kind  of  shops  do  you  fancy 
most,  so  we'll  go  and  look  into  their  show- 
windows  first?" 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  What  do  you 
prefer  yourself,  Miss  Pittock?  We've  time 
to  see  most  everything  of  any  account,  any 
how.  She's  not  coming  home  before  twelve." 

"  No  more  is  mine.  Suppose  we  go  first 
to  the  Grand  Bazar.  They've  always  got 
ii 


THE    HUNDRED 

the  most  amazing  show  there.  That  you, 
Mr.  Jackson  ?  A  merry  Christmas  to  you, 
Mr.  Jackson,  and  a  happy  New  Year!" 

For  just  as  they  reached  the  door  they 
found  the  butler  letting  himself  out  too. 
He  did  not  sleep  in  the  house,  and  was  tak 
ing  the  opportunity  to-night  to  leave  early. 
For  a  second  he  could  not  return  Miss  Pit- 
tock's  salutation,  his  mouth  being  crowded 
with  a  last  bite  snatched  in  haste.  When  he 
had  swallowed,  he  grinned  and  excused  his 
hurry,  holding  the  door  for  the  ladies. 

"  Sorry  I  ain't  going  your  way,  ladies,"  he 
said,  amiably,  and  the  door  closed  behind  the 
three. 

In  the  kitchen  the  cook,  with  a  face  like  a 
pleasant  copper  saucepan,  rosy  and  shining 
and  round,  was  moving  about  leisurely,  giv 
ing  this  and  that  a  final  unhurried  wipe. 
She  wore  a  face  of  contentment ;  it  was  her 
legitimate  night  out ;  with  a  good  conscience 
presently  she  was  going  up  to  make  a  change, 
and  off  to  her  family. 

A  young  woman  in  a  light  gingham  and 
frilled  cap  sat  watching  her  sulkily,  her 

12 


THE    HU  NDRED 

hands  idle  on  her  embroidered  muslin  apron. 
A  girl  of  perhaps  eighteen,  capless,  in  a  dark 
calico  that  made  not  the  first  pretension  to 
elegance,  was  washing  her  face  at  one  of  the 
shiny  copper  faucets.  She  vanished  a  mo 
ment,  and  came  back  with  her  damp  hair 
streaked  all  over  by  the  comb.  The  cook 
was  gone. 

"  You  going,  too,  I  suppose?"  said  the  sul 
len  parlor-maid. 

"  Why,  yes.  'Ain't  I  done  everything? 
There's  no  need  of  my  staying,  is  there?" 
The  kitchen-maid  went  home  for  the  night, 
too. 

"  No,  I  don't  suppose  there  is.  I  just 
thought  you  might  happen  to  be,  that's  all." 

The  kitchen-maid  sat  down  a  minute,  in  a 
tired,  ungirt  position,  and  looked  over  at  the 
parlor-maid  with  good-natured  young  eyes 
grown  a  trifle  speculative.  The  latter  let 
her  glance  wander  over  the  day's  newspaper, 
brought  down-stairs  until  inquired  for. 

"  Tell  you  what  I'd  like  to  do !"  exclaimed 
the  kitchen-maid. 

''What  'd  you  like  to  do,  Sally?" 
13 


THE    HUNDRED 

"  That's  to  come  back  again  after  I've 
been  home  for  just  a  minute." 

The  parlor- maid  looked  up,  unable  alto 
gether  to  conceal  her  interest.  The  house 
was  very  quiet.  Through  the  clock -ticks, 
at  perfectly  regular  intervals,  came  the  muf 
fled  sound  of  Jetty's  disconsolate  yaps.  Nei 
ther  of  the  girls  appeared  to  hear  them. 

"  You  don't  mean  just  to  oblige,  do  you, 
Sally?" 

"  Well,  I'd  do  it  in  a  minute  for  nothing 
else  beside,  but  that  ain't  quite  all  I  was 
thinking  of  just  this  once.  Miss  Catherine  " — 
she  hesitated,  then,  enthusiastically — "  have 
you  seen  'em  up-stairs?  the  whole  hundred 
of  'em  laid  out  off  Mrs.  Darling's  bedroom  ? 
I  saw  'em  when  Mrs.  Bonnet  she  sent  me  up 
for  the  lamps  to  clean.  Law !  Wouldn't 
any  child  like  to  see  a  sight  like  that ! 
There's  a  little  girl  in  my  tenement,  she'd 
just  go  crazy.  Do  you  think  there'd  be  any 
harm  in  it  if  I  was  to  bring  her  over  and  let 
her  get  one  peep  ?  She's  as  clean  a  child  as 
ever  you  saw.  She  comes  of  dreadful  poor 
folks,  but  just  as  respectable!  She  never 
14 


THE    HUNDRED 

seen  anything  like  it  in  her  life.  Law,  what 
would  I  have  done  when  I  was  a  young  one 
if  I'd  seen  that?  I'd  thought  I  was  dead 
and  gone  to  heaven.  I  say,  Miss  Catherine, 
d'  you  think  any  one  would  mind?" 

"  How  '11  they  know  ?"  said  Miss  Catherine, 
callously.  "  Look  here,  Sally  ;  you  go  along 
just  as  fast  as  you  can  and  fetch  your  young 
one.  And  when  you've  got  back,  perhaps 
I'll  step  out  a  minute,  two  or  three  doors  up 
street,  and  you  can  answer  the  bell  while  I'm 
gone.  Now  hurry  into  your  things.  I'll  give 
you  your  car  fare." 

"  Miss  Catherine,  you're  just  as  good  as 
you  can  be,  and  I'll  do  something  to  oblige 
you,  too,  some  time,"  said  Sally,  her  face 
aglow  with  delight ;  and  having  hurried  into 
her  jacket  and  tied  up  her  head  in  a  worsted 
muffler,  was  off. 

She  almost  ran  over  the  packed  snow 
down  the  street.  She  had  soon  left  the 
quiet  rows  of  private  dwelling-houses  and 
come  where  hundreds  of  lights  glittered 
across  the  rose-tinged  snow.  At  every  few 
rods  a  street  band  tootled  and  blared,  cov- 
15 


THE    HUNDRED 

ering  the  scraping  of  snow-shovels  and  jingle 
of  bells.  "How  gay  it  is!"  she  thought; 
"won't  it  be  a  treat !" 

She  plunged  into  a  mean,  small  street, 
leading  off  a  mean  but  tawdry  larger  one, 
where  things  hung  outside  the  shops  with 
their  prices,  written  large,  pinned  on  them, 
and  had  soon  come  to  the  house  where  her 
family  lived. 

She  went  in  like  a  great  gust  of  fresh  air. 
In  less  than  five  minutes  she  came  out,  lead 
ing  by  the  hand  a  little  girl  who,  from  being 
very  much  bundled  up  about  the  shoulders, 
and  having  brief  petticoats  above  thin  black 
legs,  looked  top-heavy.  She  was  obliged  to 
nearly  run  to  keep  up  with  Sally,  and  was 
trying  to  get  out  words  through  the  breath- 
lessness  occasioned  by  hurrying  and  laugh 
ing  and  coming  so  suddenly  into  the  frosty 
air. 

"  Oh,  lemme  guess,  Sal,  and  tell  me  when 
I'm  hot.  Is  it  made  of  sugar?" 

"  No,  it  ain't." 

"  But  you  said  it  was  a  treat,  didn't  you, 
Sally?" 

16 


THE    HUNDRED 

"  I  did  that.  But  ain't  there  all  sorts  of 
treats?  There's  going  to  the  circus,  for  in 
stance.  That  hasn't  any  sugar." 

"  Is  it  a  circus,  Sally?     Is  it  a  circus?" 

"  No,  it  ain't  a  circus,  but  it's  every  bit  as 
nice." 

"Is  it  freaks,  Sally?  oh,  tell  me  if  it's 
freaks?  It  isn't?  Are  you  sure  I  shall  like 
it  very  much?  It's  nothing  to  eat,  and  it's 
nothing  I  can  have  to  keep,  and  it's  not  a 
circus.  What  color  is  it?  You'll  answer 
straight,  won't  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  it's  every  color  in  the  world,  and 
striped  and  polka-dotted  and  crinkled  and 
smooth.  There's  a  hundred  of  it." 

The  child  would  have  stopped  short  on  the 
sidewalk  the  better  to  centre  her  mind  on 
guessing,  but  Sally  dragged  her  briskly  along. 
At  the  top  of  the  street  they  came  to  a  stand 
still. 

"  What  is  it?"  asked  the  child. 

"  We're  going  to  take  the  car,"  said  Sally, 
grandly. 

«  O— h  !"  breathed  the  child. 

"  I  guess  you  never  stepped  on  to  one  of 
B  17 


THE    HUNDRED 

these  before.  This,  Tibbie,  is  nothing  but 
the  beginning.  Hi!  Hi!" 

The  swiftly  gliding,  fiery,  formidable  car 
stopped,  and  the  hoarse  buzz  died  out  in  a 
grinding  of  brakes ;  the  light  was  dimmed  a 
minute,  then  flared  out  again,  as  if  the  monster 
had  winked.  Sally  and  Tibbie  climbed  on ;  it 
moved,  banging  and  whirring  on  its  farther 
way.  They  had  to  stand,  of  course,  but 
what  of  that  ?  Tibbie  looked  all  about  with 
her  shining,  intelligent  brown  eyes,  and  felt 
a  flush  of  gratified  pride  to  see  Sally,  when 
the  conductor  had  squeezed  himself  near, 
pay  like  the  others ;  it  had  seemed  impos 
sible  that  some  compromise  should  not  have 
to  be  made  with  him.  She  slipped  her  hand 
in  Sally's,  and  was  too  occupied  with  the 
people  and  the  colored  advertisements  to 
talk. 

"  Did  you  get  anything  for  Christmas  yet, 
Tibbie?" 

She  moved  her  head  up  and  down,  be 
stowing  all  her  attention  on  a  parcel-laden 
woman  bound  to  drop  something  the  next 
time  she  stirred. 

18 


THE    HUNDRED 

"  What  did  you  get  ?" 

"A  doll's  flat-iron  and  a  muslin  bag  of 
candy.  I  put  the  iron  on  to  heat,  and  it 
melted.  I  gave  what  was  left  to  Jimmy." 

"  Who  gave  them  to  you  ?" 

"  Off  the  Sunday-school  tree.  But  there 
were  no  lights  on  it,  because  it  was  daytime. 
Sally,  I  know  something  that  has  a  hun 
dred—" 

"  What's  that?  Let's  see  if  you've  got  it 
now  ?" 

Tibbie  looked  a  little  shamefaced,  then 
said,  "  A  dollar — is  a  hundred  cents." 

"  Well,  and  would  I  be  bringing  you  so  far 
just  to  show  you  a  dollar?  This  is  worth  as 
much  as  a  dollar,  every  individual  one  of 
them.  Tibbie,  it's  just  the  grandest  sight 
you  ever  seen  —  pink  and  blue  and  yellow 
and  striped — " 

Tibbie,  who  was  looking  Sally  fixedly  in 
the  face,  as  if  to  see  if  her  secret  anywhere 
transpired,  now  almost  shouted,  "  It's  mar 
bles  !" 

"  Aw,  but  you're  downright  stupid,  Tib 
bie.  I  don't  mind  telling  you  I'm  disap- 
19 


THE    HUNDRED 

pointed.  You're  just  a  common,  every-day 
sort  of  young  one,  with  no  idear  of  grand- 
ness  in  your  idears  at  all.  And  you  don't 
seem  to  keep  a  hold  on  more  than  one  no 
tion  at  a  time.  First  it's  a  dollar.  Is  that 
pink  and  blue?  And  next  it's  marbles.  Is 
marbles  worth  a  dollar  apiece?  Now  tell  me 
what's  the  grandest,  prettiest  thing  that  ever 
you  saw — " 

" .  .  .  Angels." 

"  D'  you  ever  see  any  ?" 

"  In  the  church  window,  painted." 

"  Well,  this  is  as  handsome  as  a  hun 
dred  angels,  less  than  a  foot  tall,  all  in  new 
clothes,  with  little  hats  on." 

"  Sally,  I  think  I  know  now.  Only  it 
couldn't  be  that.  There  couldn't  likely  be 
a  hundred  of  them  all  together,  for,  oh,  Sally, 
it  isn't  a  store  we  are  going  to  !  You  didn't 
tell  me  it  was  a  store." 

"  No  more  it  is.  We're  going  straight  to 
Mrs.  Darling's  house,  and  no  place  but  there. 
Here's  where  we  get  off." 

The  big  girl,  with  the  small  one,  alighted 
and  turned  into  the  quieter  streets,  Tibbie, 


THE    HUNDRED 

as  before,  almost  running  to  keep  up  with 
her  long-legged  friend. 

They  went  into  Mrs.  Darling's  by  the 
back  door.  In  the  kitchen  stood  Miss  Cath 
erine  in  a  coat  with  jet  spangles  and  a  hat 
with  nodding  plumes,  pulling  on  a  pair  of 
tight  kid  gloves. 

Tibbie  at  sight  of  her  hung  back,  mur 
muring  to  Sally,  "You  didn't  tell  me!  You 
didn't  tell  me!" 

"  Now,  you'll  be  sure  she  don't  touch  any 
thing,  Sally,"  said  Miss  Catherine,  looking 
Tibbie  over. 

"  Naw !  She  won't  hurt  anything.  I've 
told  her  I'll  skin  her  if  she  does." 

"Are  her  hands  clean  ?  You'd  better  give 
them  a  wash,  anyhow." 

Tibbie  dropped  her  eyes,  a  little  mortified. 

"  All  right !     I'll  wash  'em,"  said  Sally. 

"  She'd  better  scrape  her  boots  thoroughly 
on  the  mat,  too,  before  going  up." 

"  I'll  look  after  all  that,  Miss  Catherine. 
Just  you  go  long  with  an  easy  mind." 

"  Well,  I'm  off.  I  won't  be  long.  Why 
don't  you  give  her  a  piece  of  that  cake?  It's 

21 


THE    HUNDRED 

cut.  But  make  her  eat  it  down  here.  Good 
night,  little  girl.  I  guess  you  never  was  in  a 
house  like  this  before.  Good-night,  Sal.  Is 
my  hat  on  straight  ?" 

She  was  gone,  and  the  whole  house  now 
belonged  to  Sally  and  Tibbie.  They  looked 
at  each  other  in  silence  a  moment ;  the  glee 
they  felt  came  shining  to  the  surface  of  their 
faces  and  made  them  grin  broadly  at  each 
other. 

"  She's  particular,  ain't  she?"  said  Sally. 

"  I  just  as  soon  wash  them  again,  but 
they're  clean.  I  thought  you  said  she  was 
gone  off  to  a  party  and  going  to  be  gone  till 
real  late." 

"  Law !"  roared  Sally,  and  plumped  down 
to  contort  herself  in  comfort.  "  She  thought 
it  was  Mrs.  Darling  herself !  Law  !  law  !" 

Tibbie  laughed,  too,  but  not  so  heartily, 
and  the  great  time  began. 

Sally  went  for  the  cake-box,  and  Tibbie 
made  a  thoughtful  selection  ;  and  "  Who'll 
ever  find  a  few  crumbs  ?"  said  Sally.  "  Come 
along !" 

The  great  child  and  the  little,  full  of  a 

22 


THE    HUNDRED 

sense  of  play,  went  up  the  stairs  hand  in 
hand.  Tibbie  could  scarcely  take  account 
of  what  was  happening  to  her,  such  was  the 
pure  delight  of  the  adventure. 

"  This  is  the  dining-room  ;  this  is  the  sit 
ting-room  ;  this  is  the  receiving-room  ;  this, 
now  prepare  —  this  is  Mrs.  Darling's  own 
room !" 

Up  went  the  light ;  the  rose-paper  walls, 
the  rose-chintz  dumpy  chairs,  the  silver-laden 
dressing-table,  the  pink  and  white  draped 
bed,  leaped  into  sight.  Tibbie  stood  still, 
open-lipped. 

"Ain't  it  handsome?"  asked  Sally,  with 
the  pride  of  indirectly  belonging  to  such 
things.  "  Come  along,  I'm  going  to  wash 
your  hands  in  Mrs.  Darling's  basin." 

She  drew  Tibbie,  who  gazed  backward 
over  her  shoulder,  into  the  little  alcove  where 
the  marble  wash-stand  was,  and  turned  on 
stiff  jets  of  hot  and  cold  water  together.  At 
the  sweet  odor  of  the  soap  tablet  pushed 
under  her  nose,  Tibbie's  attention  was  won 
to  the  operations  of  washing  and  wiping. 

"  But  where  is  there  a  hundred  of  any- 
23 


THE    HUNDRED 

thing?"  she  asked,  faintly,  looking  all 
about. 

"  Oh,  this  ain't  it  yet !  This  is  only  like 
the  outside  entry.  Now,  Miss  Tibbs,  what 
kind  of  scent  will  you  have  on  your  hands?" 

"Oh,  Sal!" 

"  Shall  it  be  Violet,  or  Russian  Empress, 
or — what's  this  other — Lilass  Blank?  or  the 
anatomizer  played  over  them  like  the  garden- 
hose?" 

They  unstopped  the  bottles  in  turn,  and 
drew  up  out  of  them  great,  noisy,  luxurious 
breaths.  "  This,  Sally,  this,"  said  Tibbie  at 
the  one  with  the  double  name  like  a  person. 
Sally  poured  a  drop  in  her  little  rough,  red 
hands,  and  she  danced  as  she  rubbed  them 
together. 

"Why  are  the  little  scissors  crooked?"  she 
asked,  busily  picking  up  and  putting  down 
things  one  after  the  other.  "  What  for  is 
the  fluting-irons?  What  for  is  the  butter  in 
the  little  chiny  jar?  What's  the  flour  for  in 
the  silver  box  ?  Oh,  what's  this  ?  Oh,  Sal, 
what's  that  ?" 

Sally  picked  up  the  powder-puff  and  gave 
24 


THE    HUNDRED 

her  little  friend,  who  drew  back  startled  and 
coughing,  a  dusty  dab  with  it  on  each  cheek. 
"  It's  to  make  you  pale,"  she  said.  "  It  ain't 
fashionable  to  be  red."  She  applied  the  puff 
to  her  own  cheeks  as  well.  The  two  stood 
gazing  in  silent  interest  at  themselves  in  the 
mirror,  and  gradually  broke  into  smiles  at 
the  incongruous  reflection.  Sally  suddenly 
bent  one  cheek,  hitched  up  one  shoulder,  and 
brushed  half  her  face  clean ;  then  did  the 
same  by  the  other  cheek  with  her  other 
shoulder.  Tibbie,  who  had  watched  her, 
aped  her  movement  faithfully.  They  looked 
at  themselves  again,  and  Tibbie  remarked, 
"  But  I  ain't  red,  anyhow." 

"  Law !  that  you  ain't !  When  are  you 
going  to  begin  to  get  some  fat  on  your 
bones,  Tibbie,  or  to  grow?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Who's  the  gentleman, 
Sal,  in  the  pretty  frame?" 

"  That's  Mrs.'s  husband.  He  ain't  been 
living  some  time." 

"  Oh,  he  isn't  living.     Listen,  listen,  Sally  ! 
What's   that   noise   I   keep   hearing?      I've 
heard  it  ever  since  we  came." 
25 


THE    HUNDRED 

Sally  listened.  "That?  That's  Jetty.  It's 
a  little  bit  of  a  dog,  up  at  the  top  of  the 
house." 

"  Oh,  a  little  bit  of  a  dog!  Why  does  he 
bark  all  the  time?" 

"  I  guess  Mrs.  Bonnet  shut  him  up  there 
alone  in  the  dark  till  she  came  back  from 
gadding  with  Miss  Pittock." 

"Couldn't  we  get  him,  Sally?  I  hate  to 
hear  him.  I  want  to  see  him  awfully." 

"  All  right.  You  wait  here.  But  don't 
you  hurt  anything,  or  I'll  skin  you,  sure,  like 
I  told  Miss  Catherine.  And  whatever  you 
do,  don't  you  go  into  the  little  room  till  I 
come  back." 

"  Is  the  hundred  there?" 

"  Yes,  it's  there." 

Tibbie,  left  alone,  looked  at  the  half-open 
door  a  minute,  then  turned  away  from  it :  all 
was  so  interesting,  anyhow,  she  could  wait 
with  grace.  With  the  palm  of  her  hand, 
which  she  frequently  stopped  to  smell,  she 
stroked  the  fine  linen  pillows  on  the  bed, 
and  the  white  bear  rugs  on  the  floor,  and  the 
curtains:  everything  felt  so  soft.  She  ex- 
26 


THE    HUNDRED 

amined  the  features  of  the  Rev.  Dorel  Good- 
hue  with  approbation,  proposing  to  ask  Sally 
whether  she  knew  him. 

The  bark  came  nearer  and  nearer ;  when 
the  door  opened,  in  tumbled  a  small  silky 
ball  of  black  dog,  who  almost  turned  him 
self  inside  out  in  his  delight  at  being  in 
human  company  again.  He  ran  floppily 
about  and  about  the  floor,  in  his  conscious, 
cringing,  graceful  way,  waving  his  tail  round 
and  round,  tossing  back  his  long  silk  ears  to 
bark  and  bark. 

At  last  the  girls  between  them  had  him 
caught.  He  was  squeezed  tight  in  Tibbie's 
arms,  where  he  wriggled  and  twitched,  cov 
ering  her  cheeks  and  ears  with  rapid  dog- 
kisses,  interspersed  still  with  rapturous 
barks.  "  Oh,  oh  !"  cried  Tibbie,  trying  vain 
ly  to  hold  him  still  long  enough  to  get  a 
good  kiss  at  him.  "  Isn't  he  soft  ?  Isn't 
he  sweet?  And  he  has  a  yellow  ribbon. 
Oh,  do  keep  quiet,  doggie  dear  —  you 
tickle !" 

"  I  don't  think  we  will  bother  any  more 
about  seeing  the  hundred,"  said  Sally,  a 
27 


THE    HUNDRED 

feigned  coldness  in  her  tone,  and  stood  aloof 
watching  child  and  dog. 

"  I  had  forgotten,  honest,  Sally." 

"  Put  him  down  and  come  on,  then." 

"  Mayn't  I  hold  him  and  come  too?" 

"  No ;  for  when  you  see  'em,  you'll  drop 
him  so  quick  you'll  like  as  not  break  his 
legs." 

"All  right.  Down,  Jetty!  Down,  sir! 
Come  along,  Jetty;  come  right  along,  dear!" 

"  Wait  a  minute.  I'll  go  in  first  and  turn 
up  the  light.  When  I  sing  out,  you  come 
on." 

She  went  ahead,  and  Jetty  precipitated 
himself  at  her  heels.  Tibbie  stooped  with 
anxious  inducing  noises,  and  "  Come  back, 
sir!  Comeback!" 

"  Ready!"  shouted  Sally. 

Tibbie  made  a  bound  for  the  door,  but  at 
a  step's  distance  was  overcome  by  a  curious 
timidity,  and  instead  of  bolting  in,  pulled 
the  door  towards  her  tremulously,  and  push 
ed  aside  the  lace  hanging  with  a  cold  hand. 

There  lay  the  hundred,  all  on  a  couch  un 
der  the  gas-light,  arranged  as  in  a  show- 
28 


THE    HUNDRED 

window,  propped  by  means  of  silk  cushions 
so  as  to  form  a  solid  sloping  bank  —  the 
hundred  beautiful  dolls. 

"Well,  ma'am?"  asked  Sally,  expectantly. 

Tibbie  said  nothing,  but  looked  at  them 
vaguely,  full  of  constraint. 

"  Well,  I  never!"  said  Sally.  "  Don't  you 
like  'em  ?  What  on  earth  did  you  expect, 
child  ?  Well,  I  never  !  Well,  if  it  don't  beat 
all !  Why,  when  I  was  a  young  one —  Why, 
Tibbie  girl  —  don't  you  think  they  are 
lovely  r 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered,  moving  her  head 
slowly  up  and  down,  then  letting  it  hang. 

"Aw,  come  out  of  that,"  said  Sally,  under 
standing.  "  Come,  let's  look  at  'em  one  by 
one,  taking  all  our  time.  Come  to  Sally, 
darling,  and  don't  feel  bad.  We'll  have  lots 
of  fun." 

She  took  the  not  unwilling  Tibbie  by  the 
hand,  and  led  her  nearer  the  banked  splen 
dor. 

The  dolls  were  all  of  a  size,  and,  undressed, 
would  with  difficulty  have  been  told  apart, 
except,  perhaps,  by  their  little  mothers.  All 
29 


THE    HUNDRED 

were  very  blond  and  wide-eyed  and  bow- 
lipped  ;  all,  though  dressed  like  little  ladies, 
had  the  chubby  hands  of  infants ;  and  their 
boots  were  painted  trimly  on  with  black, 
and  their  garters  with  blue.  But  how  to 
render  the  coquettish  fashionableness  with 
which  these  wax-complexioned  darlings  were 
tricked  out !  all  equally  in  silks  and  satins 
and  velvets  and  lace,  so  that  there  could  be 
no  jealousies ;  all  with  hats  of  like  beauty 
and  stylishness. 

Sally  seated  herself  on  the  floor  beside  the 
low  couch,  and  pulled  Tibbie  down  into  her 
lap,  who  drew  up  Jetty  into  hers.  Tibbie 
had  recovered  the  power  to  speak,  but  was 
still  unduly  sober  and  husky. 

"  I  had  almost  guessed  it,  you  know,"  she 
said,  "  when  you  said  like  angels  with  hats 
on.  But  I  couldn't  think  there  would  be  a 
hundred  unless  it  was  a  store.  What  has 
the  lady  so  many  for?" 

"Bless  your  heart!  They  ain't  for  her 
self  !  They  are  for  orphans  in  a  school  that 
a  minister- cousin  of  hers  is  superintendent 
of.  She  has  been  over  a  month  making 
30 


THE    HUNDRED 

these  clothes.  Every  Wednesday  she  would 
give  a  tea  party,  and  a  lot  of  ladies  come 
and  sit  stitching  and  snipping  and  buzzing 
over  the  dolls'  clothes  the  blessed  after 
noon.  And  I  washed  the  tea  things  after 
them  all !" 

"  They  are  for  the  orphans.  Are  there  a 
hundred  orphans?" 

"  I  guess  likely." 

"  Suppose,  Sally — suppose  there  were  only 
ninety-nine,  and  some  girl  got  two!" 

"  Well,  we  two  have  got  a  hundred  for  to 
night,  Tibbie,  so  let's  play,  and  glad  enough 
we've  got  our  mothers.  Look,  this  is  the 
way  you  must  hold  them  to  be  sure  of  not 
crumpling  anything." 

She  slipped  her  hand  deftly  under  a  doll's 
petticoats,  and  they  peeped  discreetly  at  the 
dainty  under-clothes,  crisp  and  snowy,  more 
lace  than  linen. 

"  My  soul  and  body !  Did  you  ever  see 
the  like !"  exclaimed  Sally,  spurring  on  Tib 
bie's  enthusiasm  by  the  tone  of  her  voice, 
making  the  wonder  more,  to  fill  her  little 
friend's  soul  to  intoxication.  Tibbie  easily 
31 


THE    HUNDRED 

responded.  She  fairly  rocked  herself  to  and 
fro  with  delight. 

"  And  not  a  pin  among  'em,"  sighed  Sally. 
"  All  pearl  buttons  and  silk  tying-strings  and 
silver  hooks  and  eyes ;  and,  mercy  on  my 
soul !  a  little  bit  of  a  pocket  in  every  dress, 
with  its  little  bit  of  a  lace  pocket-handker 
chief  inside.  D'you  see  that,  Tibbie  ?  And 
not  two  alike !" 

"  Oh,  but  there  are  some  'most  alike  !"  said 
the  quick-eyed  Tibbie ;  "  only,  scattered  far 
apart.  There  are  three  with  the  little  rose 
bud  silk,  and  here's  more  than  one  with  the 
speckled  muslin.  Perhaps  those  will  be  giv 
en  to  sisters." 

"Come  on,  Tibbie;  let's  choose  the  one 
we  would  choose  to  get,  if  we  was  to  get 
one  given  us.  Now,  I  would  like  that  one 
in  red  velvet.  It's  just  so  dressy,  ain't  it, 
with  the  gold  braid  sewed  down  in  a  pat 
tern  round  the  bottom.  Which  would  you 
take?" 

"  I  should  like  the  one  all  in  white.  She 
must  be  a  bride ;  see,  she  has  a  wreath  and 
veil  and  necklace.  I  should  like  her  the 
32 


THE    HUNDRED 

very  best.  But  right  after  that,  if  I  could 
have  two,  I  should  like  this  other  in  the 
shade -hat  with  the  forget-me-nots,  and 
forget-me-nots  dotted  all  over  her  dress. 
And,  see!  the  sky-blue  hair- ribbon.  If  I 
could  just  have  three  of  them,  then  I  would 
take  this  one  too,  with  the  black  lace  shawl 
over  her  head  fastened  with  roses  instead  of  a 
hat.  She  has  such  a  lovely  face  !  And  af 
ter  her  I  would  choose  this  one  in  green — 
or  this  one  in  pink ;  no,  this  one  here,  Sally, 
just  look — this  one  in  green  and  pink.  And 
you,  if  you  could  have  more  than  one,  which 
would  you  choose,  after  the  red  one?" 

"Well,  I  guess  I'd  choose  this  one  in 
white." 

"Oh  no,  Sally;  don't  you  remember? 
That  is  the  bride,  the  one  I  said  the  very 
first.  You  can  have  all  the  others,  Sally 
dear,  except  the  bride.  But  let's  see,  per 
haps  there  are  two  brides.  Yes  ! — no  ! — that 
is  just  a  little  girl  in  white,  without  a  wreath. 
Should  you  like  her  as  well?  I  was  the  first 
to  say  the  bride,  you  know." 

"  Law  !  I  wouldn't  have  wanted  her  if  I 
c  33 


THE    HUNDRED 

had  known  she  was  a  bride !  I  take  this 
one,  Tibbie  —  this  one  with  the  feathers  in 
her  hat.  Ain't  she  the  gay  girl,  in  red  and 
green  plaid!  And  this  purple  silk  one,  and 
this  red  and  white  stripe,  and  this — " 

"  Wait !  That's  enough,  Sally  ;  that  makes 
four  for  you.  It's  my  turn  now.  If  I  could 
have  five,  I  should  take  one  of  the  rose-bud 
ones  —  no,  two  of  them,  so's  to  play  I  had 
twins.  Say,  Sally,  let's  choose  one  apiece — 
first  you  one,  then  me  one,  till  we've  chosen 
them  all  up,  and  got  fifty  apiece.  Your  turn." 

They  chose  and  chose,  pointing  each  time, 
and  detailing  the  costume  of  the  chosen  one 
aloud  with  the  greatest  enjoyment. 

Jetty  had  laid  himself  down  beside  them, 
stretched  his  silky  length,  his  nose  between 
his  paws.  He  was  very  tired.  Perhaps 
among  the  things  his  great  moist  eyes  were 
wondering  about  was  the  reason  of  this  fa 
tigue  in  his  vocal  chords. 

"  For  my  forty-fifth  one,"  said  Sally,  plac 
ing  her  forefinger  pensively  against  the  side 
of  her  nose,  "  I  choose  her — her  with  the  lit 
tle  black  velvets  run  all  through." 

34 


THE    HUNDRED 

"  Taken  already,"  said  Tibbie,  promptly. 

"  Then  her  over  there,  with  the  short  puf 
fy  sleeves." 

"  Taken  !" 

"She  taken  too?  Well,  then,  her  in  the 
pink  Mother  Hubbard  with  the  little  knit 
ting-bag  on  her  arm." 

"  Taken,  Sally  !  Can't  you  remember  any 
thing?  Those  belong  to  me;  I  chose  them 
long  ago.  These  are  the  only  not  taken 
ones ;  here  and  here  and  here  and  here  and 
here  and  here  and — " 

"  Aw,  you're  a  great  girl !"  cried  Sally, 
suddenly  throwing  her  arms  around  Tibbie 
and  casting  herself  backward  on  the  floor 
with  her,  where  they  tumbled  and  rolled, 
laughing,  Jetty  jumping  about  on  top  of 
them,  barking  hoarsely  in  a  frenzy  of  fun. 

"  Oh,  Tibbie,  ain't  we  having  a  time  of  it  ?" 

And  Tibbie  almost  shouted,  "  Yes ! — ain't 
we  having  a  time  of  it !" 

"Ain't  this  a  night?" 

"  Oh  yes  !— ain't  it  a  night !" 

Sally  tickled  and  poked  her  affectionately  ; 
and  she  tried  to  tickle  Sally,  and  laughed  till 
35 


THE    HUNDRED 

she  was  almost  hysterical,  and  never  remem 
bered  who  she  was,  or  thought  of  anything 
outside  this  little  room,  but  was  filled  with  a 
sense  of  the  crazy  deliciousness  of  the  mo 
ment. 

At  last,  weak  with  laughter,  she  disen 
tangled  herself  from  the  still  panting  and 
laughing  Sally  on  the  floor,  and  insisted  on 
returning  to  the  business  of  the  distribution. 
She  felt  in  the  mood  to  be  very  funny.  She 
jerked  herself  up  and  down  and  all  about  in 
a  senseless  sort  of  way. 

"  Here,  Sally,  now  stop  laughing  and  let's 
finish.  It  was  your  turn.  You'd  best  take 
that  one ;  she  looks  more  as  if  she  might  be 
a  little  girl  of  yours,  her  cheeks  are  so  red — 
red  as  a  great  big  cabbage !"  This  remark 
seemed  to  Tibbie  so  inexpressibly  humorous 
that  she  laughed  again  till  she  nearly  cried. 

"  Well,  it's  sure  none  of  'em  has  legs  to 
make  'em  look  like  children  of  yours,"  re 
torted  Sally  ;  and  that  seemed  a  greater  joke 
still.  With  a  foal's  action,  Tibbie  flung  out 
the  thin  black  legs  with  the  awkward  boots 
at  the  ends  of  them,  and  dropped  to  the 
36 


THE    HUNDRED 

floor  squirming  and  laughing.  Sally  caught 
her  suddenly  again,  and  cast  herself  back 
ward  with  her  as  before,  in  a  gale  of  mirth. 

There  they  were  frolicking,  when  the  peal 
of  a  bell  rang  brightly  across  their  giggles. 

Sally  sat  up  instantly,  and  all  in  Mrs. 
Darling's  house  was  for  a  long  moment  still 
as  the  very  grave,  for  Sally  had  instinc 
tively  clapped  her  hand  over  Jetty's  ready 
muzzle. 

"  Murder!"  whispered  Sally,  solemnly,  at 
last. 

"What  is  it?"  breathed  Tibbie  in  her  ear. 

"  Was  it  the  front  door  or  the  back  door?" 
asked  Sally. 

"  I  dunW,  Sally." 

Sally  had  picked  herself  up,  and  was  strok 
ing  down  her  things. 

Tibbie  stood  beside  her,  looking  up  in  her 
face,  her  own  a  trifle  pale. 

Sally's  irresolution  lasted  only  a  second. 
She  cast  an  eye  on  the  dolls,  saw  that  they 
were  very  nearly  as  she  had  found  them, 
and  turned  down  the  light.  She  looked 
about  Mrs.  Darling's  room  to  see  that  all 
37 


THE    HUNDRED 

was  as  usual,  and  turned  down  the  lights 
there  too,  after  glancing  at  the  clock. 

"  It  ain't  late,"  she  murmured.  "  It  ain't 
a  bit  later  than  I  supposed.  It  can't  be  her ! 
It  might  be  Mrs.  Bonnet,  though,  getting 
home  before  Catherine,  who's  got  the  key. 
I  shouldn't  want  her  to  catch  you  here  for 
the  whole  world.  Look  here,  Tibbie.  You 
stand  in  here  till  I  find  out  who  it  is,  and  if 
it's  Mrs.  Bonnet,  you'll  have  to  stay  hidden 
till  I  find  a  good  chance  to  come  and  smug 
gle  you  down." 

Tibbie  waited  in  the  farthest  corner  of  the 
hall  closet,  holding  her  breath,  conscious  of 
nothing  at  first  but  excitement  and  fear  of 
she  did  not  know  quite  what.  After  a  little, 
the  thought  drifted  across  her  fervent  hope 
for  present  safety,  that  though  she  got  well 
out  of  this  scrape,  she  would  probably  never 
see  those  radiant  dollies  again,  her  own  half 
or  Sally's. 

She  heard  a  whiffling  and    scratching  at 

the  closet  door.    Here  was  Jetty,  dear  Jetty, 

whose  actions  would  surely  betray  her  to 

Mrs.  Bonnet  when  she  came  that  way.    Tib- 

38 


THE    HUNDRED 

bie  whispered:  "Go  right  away,  Jetty. 
There's  no  one  in  this  closet ;  go  right 
away !"  and  pressed  backward  to  the  wall, 
among  the  water-proofs,  feeling  like  a  little 
criminal  with  the  police  on  her  track. 

"  Tibbie !"  came  Sally's  voice  from  the 
foot  of  the  stairs  :  it  sounded  perfectly  calm, 
and  pleasant  with  a  sort  of  company  pleas 
antness.  "  It's  all  right.  It's  just  a  friend 
dropped  in  for  a  moment.  You  can  go  in 
again  and  play  a  little  longer.  Turn  up  the 
light  carefully.  But  remember  what  I  told 
you." 

Tibbie  instantly  forgot  all  her  fears.  She 
came  out  and  picked  up  Jetty ;  she  kissed 
him,  explaining  why  she  had  told  him  to 
go  away.  The  doggie  seemed  to  bear  no 
malice. 

Tibbie  tiptoed  into  the  doll-room,  and  es 
tablished  herself  on  her  knees  before  the 
dolls,  happier  than  before,  with  a  profound- 
er  happiness,  in  a  stiller,  almost  devotional 
mood.  It  was  so  different  being  alone  with 
them,  having  them  quite  to  herself,  to  play 
with  in  her  own  way.  She  took  up  the 

39 


THE    HUNDRED 

bride  with  a  reverent  hand,  and  after  long 
contemplating  her,  very  seriously,  tenderly 
kissed  her.  Then,  touching  them  as  if  they 
had  been  snow-flakes  almost,  she  moved  the 
impressive  little  persons  about,  until  her 
fifty  were  on  one  side  and  Sally's  on  the 
other. 

"  I  can't  play  they're  a  family,"  she  re 
flected  ;  "  they  are  too  many  all  the  same 
age,  and  all  girls.  I  will  play  they  are  a 
hundred  girls  in  an  orphan  asylum — a  very 
rich  orphan  asylum — and  that  I  am  the  su 
perintendent.  To-morrow  I  am  going  to  give 
each  a  beautiful  doll  for  a  Christmas  pres 
ent.  This  little  girl's  name  is  Rosa.  That 
one  is  Nelly.  That  one  is  Katy.  That  one 
is  Sue."  She  named  every  one,  passing 
through  the  list  of  such  names  as  Golden- 
locks,  Cherrylips,  Diamondeyes,  to  end  with 
such  invented  ones  as  Kirry,  Mirry,  Dirry, 
Birry.  They  seemed  so  much  completerwith 
names.  Tibbie  would  say,  "  Miss  Snowdrop  !" 
And  Miss  Snowdrop,  with  Tibbie's  assist 
ance,  would  rise,  answering,  "Yes,  ma'am." 
"  Spell  knot."  "  N— O— T  !"  "  Not  at  all, 
40 


THE    HUNDRED 

my  dear.  Sit  down  again,  my  dear.  Miss 
Lily ;  stand  up,  miss,  and  see  if  you  can  do 
any  better  this  morning." 

Suddenly,  after  having  taken  the  asylum 
through  a  day's  exercises,  Tibbie  tired  of 
being  the  superintendent.  She  craved  a  re 
lation  more  intimate,  more  affectionate,  with 
the  dollies.  She  did  not  believe  a  superin 
tendent  would  have  kissed  and  fondled  them 
as  she  longed  to  do.  She  selected  a  dozen 
or  so,  to  play  they  were  her  children.  She 
gave  them  their  supper;  she  washed  them 
and  made  them  say  their  prayers.  She  told 
them  it  was  bedtime,  and  she  would  now 
rock  them  to  sleep.  She  turned  down  the 
light,  to  make  all  very  real,  and  drawing  out 
a  low  rocking-chair  that  seemed  made  for 
her  purpose,  seated  herself  in  it  with  two 
dolls  on  each  arm,  the  rest  made  as  com 
fortable  as  possible  on  her  lap ;  for  not  one 
of  them,  after  being  included  in  the  family, 
could,  of  course,  be  left  out  of  the  rock 
ing.  She  rocked  gently,  now  hushing,  now 
singing  "  Bye-low-low-baby,"  her  maternal 
heart  swollen  very  large.  In  time,  one  of 
41 


THE    HUNDRED 

the  daughters  became  fractious  and  restless ; 
she  had  to  have  medicine,  and  the  rocking 
for  her  sake  had  to  become  almost  violent. 
Nothing  would  soothe  her  but  that  the  chair 
should  rock  backward  and  forward  to  the 
very  tip  ends  of  its  rockers.  This  had  its 
good  effect  at  last ;  all  the  dolls  were  fast 
asleep,  and  the  mother,  her  duty  done,  com 
posed  herself  to  take  a  well-earned  rest  too. 
This  thought  was  no  doubt  suggested  to 
Tibbie  by  the  fact  that  she  was  really  get 
ting  sleepy.  It  was  long  past  her  bedtime. 

She  was  not  far  from  napping  when  she 
became  aware  of  Sally  saying :  "  Lively,  Tib 
bie  !  Miss  Catherine  has  got  back.  We 
must  be  packing  off  home.  I  declare  I  lost 
sight  of  the  time.  There's  just  no  one  like  a 
fireman  to  be  entertaining,  I  declare.  Mrs. 
Bonnet  won't  be  long  coming  now." 

She  turned  up  the  light,  and  saw  the  dolls 
so  disarranged. 

Tibbie  was  rubbing  her  eyes. 

"  Law  !"  said  Sally,  a  little  blankly.  "  Do 
you  suppose  we  can  get  them  to  look  as 
they  did?  I  hope  t'  Heaven  she  didn't  know 
42 


THE    HUNDRED 

which  went  next  to  which.  Do  you  remem 
ber,  Tibbie,  where  each  belonged  ?" 

"  Yes.  The  bride  went  here.  The  rose 
buds  here.  The  purple  and  gray  here.  I 
can  put  them  all  back,  every  one." 

u  Oh,  we're  all  right !"  said  Sally,  cheer 
fully  again.  "  No  one  '11  ever  know  in  the 
world  they've  been  disturbed." 

She  had  drawn  off  to  get  the  general  ef 
fect,  and  compare  it  with  the  earlier  image 
in  her  brain,  when  she  made  a  dive  for  one 
of  the  dolls,  the  last  one,  that  the  sleepy 
Tibbie  had  handed  her  up  off  the  floor. 

"Tibbie!"  she  said,  in  a  ghastly  whisper, 
"  look  at  its  head  !" 

Something  had  happened  to  it,  certainly. 
Its  pink -and -white  face  was  pushed  in;  it 
looked  very  much  as  if  a  chair-rocker  had 
gone  over  it.  Tibbie  looked  at  it,  not  un 
derstanding  at  all. 

"  Oh,  Tibbie !"  groaned  Sally,  "  now  what 
'11  we  do!" 

"  I  didn't  do  it,"  said  Tibbie,  lifting  a  pale 
face  with  perfectly  truthful  eyes.  "  I  was 
just  as  careful !  She  was  one  of  my  daugh- 

43 


THE     HUNDRED 

ters ;  I  had  her  in  my  lap  rocking  her  to 
sleep  with  the  others  ;  she  must  have  slipped 
off  my  lap  —  there  were  too  many  for  one 
lap,  I  guess  —  but  I  didn't  step  on  her. 
Sure,  Sally — sure  as  I  live,  I  didn't  step  on 
her!" 

"  Oh,  law !  You  must  have  rocked  on 
her.  Oh,  Tibbie,  what  '11  I  do !" 

She  picked  up  the  doll  to  examine  it,  but 
saw  at  once  that  the  little  face  could  not  be 
made  right  again. 

Tibbie  watched  her  without  a  word  ;  her 
voice  seemed  to  have  sunk  far  below  reach. 

Sally  moved  the  dolls  about  tentatively, 
so  that  ninety-nine  should  cover  the  same 
space  as  a  hundred.  Certainly  at  first 
glance  the  one  she  held  would  never  be 
missed.  "  But  what's  the  good?"  she  said, 
throwing  it  down.  "  They'll  count  them, 
and  there'll  be  the  mischief  of  a  fuss.  Oh, 
Tibbie  " — and  she  had  reached  the  end  of 
her  good-nature — "  why  did  I  ever  think  of 
bringing  you  here  ?  Now  look  at  all  the 
trouble  you've  brought  on  me,  when  I  thought 
you'd  be  so  careful !  And  I  told  you  and 
44 


THE    HUNDRED 

told  you  till  I  was  hoarse.  And  here  you've 
ruined  all !" 

Tibbie's  eyes  could  not  bear  to  meet  Sal 
ly's.  She  stood  with  her  hands  behind  her, 
speechless  and  motionless,  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor. 

"  I  declare  I  don't  know  what  to  do!"  Sally 
exclaimed,  dropping  her  arms  and  sitting 
down  before  the  wreck.  "  I  wish  I'd  never 
seen  'em !  I  wish  there'd  never  been  any 
Christmas  !  Oh,  it's  a  great  job,  this  !  Tib 
bie,  you've  done  for  me  this  time!" 

At  this  moment  Miss  Catherine  came  in 
to  hurry  them. 

"  She's  broken  one  of  them !"  blurted  out 
Sally. 

"You  don't  mean  it!" 

"Yes,  she  has!" 

"  Let  me  see  it.  Oh,  you  wicked  child ! 
She's  smashed  its  face  right  in !  Now  who 
ever  heard  of  such  naughtiness?" 

Tibbie  twisted  about  ever  so  little,  to  get 
her  back  turned  towards  the  two. 

"  She  didn't  do  it  out  of  naughtiness  at 
all,  Miss  Catherine.  She's  as  good  a  child  as 

45 


THE    HUNDRED 

ever  lived  !"  At  that  Tibbie's  shoulders  gave 
a  little  convulsive  heave.  "  It  was  an  acci 
dent  entirely.  But  that's  just  as  bad  for 
me.  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  say  it  was 
me  did  it." 

"And  then  they'll  say  what  was  I  doing 
while  the  kitchen  help  was  poking  about  in 
the  Mrs.'s  chamber.  No ;  you  don't  get  me 
into  trouble,  Sally  Bean  !  You'd  much  bet 
ter  say  how  it  was — how  that  you  asked  me 
if  you  just  might  bring  a  little  girl  to  look, 
and  I  said  you  might,  out  of  pure  good 
nature,  being  Christmas  is  rightly  for  chil 
dren,  and  I've  a  softness  for  them.  And 
while  we  was  both  in  the  kitchen,  she  slipped 
away  from  us  and  came  here  and  done  it 
before  we  knew.  And  the  child  herself  will 
say  that  it  was  so.  You'll  be  packed  off 
dead  sure  out  of  this  place  if  you  let  on  you 
meddled  with  them  yourself.  She  won't 
have  her  things  meddled  with —  There 
goes  the  bell.  There  comes  that  old  cat 
Bonnet." 

She  hurried  off  to  open. 

"  What's  the  matter?"  said  Mrs.  Bonnet, 
46 


THE    HUNDRED 

elevating  her  eyebrows  as  she  appeared  at 
the  door  and  looked  into  the  room  she  had 
expected  to  find  dark  and  still.  She  held  a 
paper  bag;  she  spoke  with  an  impediment 
and  a  breath  of  peppermint.  Her  cheek 
bones  and  the  end  of  her  nose  were  brilliant 
pink  with  the  cold.  "  What  child  is  that?" 

Miss  Catherine  was  behind  Mrs.  Bonnet. 
"It  happened  this  way,  Mrs.  Bonnet,"  she 
began,  and  told  the  story  with  a  little  tact 
ful  adaptation  to  the  intelligence  of  her  audi 
ence,  ending,  "  And  now,  Mrs.  Bonnet,  what's 
to  be  done?" 

"  Oh,  you  wicked  little  brat !"  said  Mrs. 
Bonnet.  "  I  just  want  to  get  hold  of  you 
and  shake  you !" 

She  made  a  snatch  at  Tibbie,  who  in 
stinctively  got  beyond  her  clutch,  and  turn 
ing  scared  eyes  towards  Sally,  said,  just  au 
dibly,  "  I  want  to  go  home ;  I  want  to  go 
home." 

"  It  don't  seem  possible,"  said  Mrs.  Bon 
net,  bitterly,  "  that  I  can't  run  out  a  minute 
just  to  do  an  errand  for  Mrs.  Darling  her 
self — to  get  a  spool  of  feather-stitching  silk 

47 


THE    HUNDRED 

— but  things  like  this  has  to  happen.  Cath 
erine,  I  thought  you,  at  least,  was  a  responsi 
ble  person,  and  here  you  has  to  go  and — " 

"Mrs. Bonnet," Catherine  interrupted, uyou 
just  let  that  alone !  Don't  you  try  none  of 
that  with  me !  I  went  out  of  an  errand 
every  bit  as  much  as  you  did.  I  went  out 
to  make  sure  the  ice-cream  would  be  sent 
in  good  season  for  Christmas  dinner,  I  did. 
Now  I  don't  get  dragged  into  this  mess  one 
bit  more  than  you  do !" 

Mrs.  Bonnet  looked  at  her  with  a  poison- 
green  eye.  She  seemed  to  be  repressing 
what  was  a  trifle  difficult  to  keep  the  upper 
hand  of. 

"  Well,"  she  exclaimed  at  last,  "  Mrs.  Dar 
ling  will  be  here  in  a  minute,  and  then  we 
shall  all  see  what  we  shall  see.  Lord,  ain't 
that  woman  been  cross  to-day,  and  fussy ! 
'Tain't  as  if  she  was  like  other  people — a 
little  bit  sensible,  and  could  take  some  little 
few  things  into  consideration,  and  remem 
ber  we  are  all  human  flesh  and  blood.  Not 
much!  She  don't  consider  nothing,  nor  no 
body,  nor  feelings,  nor  circumstances  !  She 
48 


THE    HUNDRED 

just  makes  things  fly !  Things  has  to  go  her 
way,  every  time !" 

"  I  want  to  go  home,"  cried  Tibbie,  pa 
thetically,  and  looked  towards  Sally  now 
with  a  trembling  face. 

"  No,  you  sha'n't  go  home,"  said  Bonnet, 
uglily.  "  You  shall  stay  right  here  and  take 
the  blame  you  deserve,  after  spoiling  the 
face  of  that  handsome  doll.  What  do  you 
mean  by  it,  you  little  brat,  you  little  gutter 
imp?" 

"  You  let  her  alone,  Mrs.  Bonnet,"  said 
Sally,  with  a  boldness  that  had  never  before 
characterized  her  relations  with  that  lady. 
"  Don't  you  talk  to  her  like  that !  Any  one 
can  see  she's  as  sorry  as  sorry  can  be  for 
what  she's  done,  and  all  the  trouble  she's 
got  us  into — " 

"And  what  does  that  help,  I'd  like  to 
know?  The  doll  is  broke,  ain't  it?  And 
some  one  of  us  is  going  to  catch  it,  however 
things  go.  You're  a  lucky  girl,  I  say,  if  you 
don't  lose  your  place.  Some  one  of  us  is 
going  to,  I  can  easy  foretell." 

"  I  ain't  going  to  lose  my  place,"  said  Miss 

D  49 


THE    HUNDRED 

Catherine,  firmly  ;  and  with  a  lifted  chin  was 
leaving  to  lay  off  her  things,  when  the  cook's 
nice  copper-saucepan  face  was  pushed  a  lit 
tle  inside  the  door. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?"  she  asked,  cheerily, 
and  stepped  in.  Her  high-colored  shawl 
was  pinned  on  her  breast  with  a  big  brooch  ; 
her  bonnet -strings  were  nearly  lost  in  her 
fat  chin.  "  What's  it  all  about?  Whose 
nice  little  girl  is  this?" 

Gradually  she  got  the  whole  story,  and 
going  straight  to  Tibbie  lifted  her  miserable 
little  face,  saying:  "  Don't  you  feel  bad  one 
bit,  darlin'!  It  was  all  an  accident,  and  it's 
no  good  crying  over  spilt  milk.  And  if  Mrs. 
Darling  gets  mad  at  you,  she  ain't  the  real 
lady  I  take  her  for.  Why,  I  gave  my  Clary 
a  new  doll  to-night,  and  it's  ready  for  a 
new  head  this  minute.  And  did  I  stop 
to  rear  and  tear  about  it  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it. 
Why,  bless  you,  she  didn't  go  for  to  do  it! 
What  child  smashes  a  doll  a  purpose  ?  You're 
a  pretty  set,  the  whole  gang  of  you,  to  pitch 
into  a  mite  like  this !" 

Tibbie  by  this  time  was  freely  weeping, 
50. 


THE    HUNDRED 

and  Sally  and  the  cook  together  were  trying 
to  comfort  and  silence  her. 

"  I've  a  great  mind  to  stay  here  myself  and 
stand  up  for  her,  yer  pack  of  old  maids,  the 
lot  of  yer!"  said  the  cook,  looking  hard  at 
Mrs.  Bonnet,  who  had  reappeared  without 
her  hat  and  coat. 

"  You  will  oblige  me,  Mrs.  MacGrath,  by 
doing  nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  Mrs.  Bon 
net.  "  We've  no  need  to  have  a  whole  scene 
from  the  drama.  You've  no  business  on  this 
floor  anyhow,  and  I  must  insist  on  your  keep 
ing  yourself  in  your  own  quarters." 

"  And  I'll  take  my  own  time,  yer  born 
Britisher,"  said  Mrs.  MacGrath.  Then  put 
ting  her  arm  around  Tibbie:  "Well,  Tib 
bie  dear,  you  can  be  sure  of  this:  however 
bad  this  seems,  it  '11  soon  be  over.  And  if 
Mrs.  Darling  does  scold,  it  '11  soon  be  over 
too.  It  '11  all  be  looking  different  to  you  in 
the  morning.  However  things  goes,  you'll 
soon  be  forgetting  all  about  it.  And  to 
morrow  is  Christmas  Day,  that  our  own  dear 
Lord  was  born  on,  and  I'll  bake  you  a  little 
cake  and  send  it  to  you  by  Sally." 
51 


THE    HUNDRED 

"  But  Sally's  going  to  be  sent  away," 
sobbed  Tibbie. 

"  So  she  might  be,  but  I  feel  it  in  my  little 
toe  that  she  ain't  going  to  be." 

"  Well,  and  if  I  am,  I  am,  and  there  an 
end,"  said  Sally,  bravely.  "  But  I  don't  see 
why  she  can't  take  the  price  of  the  doll  out 
of  my  wages  and  let  me  stay." 

"  I  think  you'll  find,"  said  Mrs.  Bonnet, 
"  that  it  ain't  most  particularly  the  cost  of 
the  doll  gets  you  into  trouble —  There  she 
comes  this  minute !" 

The  door-bell  had  rung.  Profound  silence 
reigned  above,  while  all  listened.  Tibbie 
stopped  crying. 

"  Good-night,"  came  Mrs.  Darling's  sweet 
voice,  presently,  floating  up  from  the  foot  of 
the  stairs. 

"  Good-night,"  came  the  Rev.  Dorel  Good- 
hue's. 

There  was  a  rustle  of  silken  skirts. 

"  Oh,  Cousin  Cynthia !" 

"Yes?" 

"At  ten,  did  you  say — or  half  past?" 

"  I  said  ten — or  half  past.     Good-night." 
52 


THE    HUNDRED 

More  rustling  of  skirts  ;  then, 

"Oh,  Cousin  Dorel— " 

"Yes?"  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  It  doesn't  matter — what  we  spoke  about, 
you  know,  unless  perfectly  convenient." 

"  Oh,  but  it  will  be  convenient,  perfectly. 
Good-night.  Sleep  well." 

"You  too.  Pleasant  dreams.  Good 
night." 

"  Good-night." 

The  rustling  drew  nearer,  and  Mrs.  Dar 
ling  stood  in  the  doorway,  looking  with  a  sort 
of  absent-minded  astonishment  at  the  as 
semblage  in  her  room. 

The  violets  were  quite  dead  on  her  white 
bosom;  her  hair  was  beginning  to  come 
loose,  and  stood  out  in  golden  wisps  about 
her  flushed  face.  She  looked  very  sweet 
and  soft  and  shiny-eyed  and  pleasant  alto 
gether. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  she  asked ;  and  as  Jetty 
was  evoluting  and  clamoring  about  her  feet 
she  picked  him  up  and  kissed  him  like  a 
mother.  "  Has  anything  happened  ?  What 
is  everybody  doing  up  here?  Whose  little 

53 


THE    HUNDRED 

girl  is  this  sitting  up  so  late?  They  used  to 
tell  me  I  should  never  grow,  my  dear,  if  I 
sat  up  so  late — " 

"  This  is  what  it  is,  ma'am,"  began  Mrs. 
Bonnet ;  and  she  told  her  arrangement  of 
the  story,  uttering  her  words  as  a  mowing- 
machine  cuts  weeds. 

Mrs.  Darling  abstractedly  took  the  rock 
ing-chair  ;  as  she  listened,  the  pleasant,  hap 
py  look  forsook  her  face. 

"  Oh,  cut  it  short !"  she  interrupted,  sharp 
ly.  "What  you  have  to  tell  is  that  the 
child  there  has  broken  one  of  the  dolls,  isn't 
it?" 

There  was  an  assenting  mutter  from  Mrs. 
Bonnet. 

"And  you've  kept  her  here,  when  she 
ought  to  have  been  in  bed  these  hours,  to 
bear  the  first  beauty  of  my  displeasure — " 

Mrs.  Darling  had  said  so  much  in  a  hard 
voice,  with  an  appearance  of  cold  anger; 
here  her  voice  suddenly  died,  and  she  burst 
out  crying  like  a  vexed,  injured  child.  "  I 
declare  it  is  too  bad !"  she  sobbed,  quite 
reckless  of  making  a  spectacle  of  herself, 

54 


THE    HUNDRED 

while  all  looked  on  and  listened  in  consterna 
tion — "  I  declare  it  is  too  bad  !  It's  no  use ! 
It  doesn't  matter  what  I  do — it  is  always 
the  same !  It  is  always  taken  for  granted  I 
will  conduct  myself  like  a  beast.  Who  can 
wonder,  after  that,  if  I  do?  Here  I  find 
them,  pale  as  sheets,  the  five  of  them,  shak 
ing  in  their  boots  because  a  forlorn  little 
child  has  broken  a  miserable  doll.  And  what 
is  it  supposed  I  shall  do  about  it?  Didn't  I 
dress  the  hundred  of  them  for  children,  and 
little  poor  children  too  ?  And  I  must  have 
known  they  would  get  broken,  of  course. 
Why  did  I  dress  them  ?  What  did  I  spend 
months  dressing  them  for?  Solely  for  show, 
they  think — not  for  any  charity,  any  kind 
ness,  any  love  of  children,  or  anything  in  the 
world  but  to  make  an  effect  on  an  occasion, 
I  suppose — to  make  myself  a  merit  with  the 
parson,  perhaps!"  Here  her  crying  seemed 
to  become  less  of  anger  and  nervousness,  and 
more  of  sorrow  ;  one  would  have  thought 
her  heart-broken.  "  Oh,  it  is  too  bad  !  One 
would  imagine  I  never  said  a  decent  thing, 
or  did  a  kind  act,  to  any  one.  And  Heaven 

55 


THE    HUNDRED 

knows  it  is  not  for  lack  of  trying  to  change. 
But  no  one  sees  the  difference !  I  am  treat 
ed  like  a  vixen  and  a  terror.  All  the  people 
about  me  hate  and  fear  and  deceive  me!  A 
proof  of  it  to-night !  Oh,  the  lesson  !  Oh,  I 
wasn't  meant  for  this!  I  wasn't  meant  for 
it !  When  I  remember  last  Sunday's  ser 
mon,  and  how  straight  to  my  heart  it  went 
— oh,  I  am  a  fool  to  cry !  Come  here  to  me, 
dear  child.  What  is  your  name?  What? 
A  little  louder!  What  did  you  say?  Tib 
bie!  Oh,  what  a  nice,  funny  name!"  Mrs. 
Darling  smiled  through  her  tears,  pathetical 
ly  hiccoughing  and  sighing  while  she  spoke. 
"  You  didn't  think  I  was  going  to  scold  you, 
did  you,  dear?  Of  course  not!  It  was  an 
accident ;  I  understand  all  about  it.  I  used 
to  break  my  dolls'  heads  frequently,  I  re 
member  very  well — " 

Mrs.  Darling  had  put  her  arm  endearing 
ly  around  Tibbie,  and  tried  to  make  the 
child's  head  easy  on  her  shoulder.  But  poor 
Tibbie's  muscles  could  not  relax  ;  her  stiff 
little  face  rested  uncomfortably,  without 
pressing,  upon  its  warm  alabaster  prop.  "  Let 
56 


THE    HUNDRED 

us  see,  dear,  now,  what  we  can  do  to  make 
us  both  feel  happier.  I  dressed  all  those 
dolls  for  little  children  I  am  not  acquainted 
with  at  all.  Which  of  them  should  you  like 
the  very  best?  Which  should  you  like  for 
your  very  own?" 

Tibbie  could  neither  make  herself  move 
nor  speak ;  but  the  tail  of  her  eye  travelled 
towards  the  dolls. 

"The  bride!"  Sally  took  the  liberty  of 
saying,  beaming  as  she  came  to  Tibbie's 
aid. 

"The  bride?  Which  one  is  that?  That 
one  ?  Of  course !"  Mrs.  Darling  reached 
for  the  resplendent  favorite  and  placed  her 
in  Tibbie's  hands.  "  There,  my  dear." 

Tibbie  took  the  doll  loosely,  without 
breath  of  thanks ;  but  while  Mrs.  Darling  re 
viewed  the  dolls,  her  hand  went  out  involun 
tarily  towards  the  broken  one.  Mrs.  Dar 
ling  saw  it.  "Of  course,"  she  said — "of 
course,  you  would  want  that  poor  dollie  to 
nurse  back  to  health.  Now,  dear,  isn't  there 
one  more  you  would  like?" 

At  this  Tibbie's  confusion   seemed  likely 

57 


THE    HUNDRED 

to  overwhelm  and  swamp  her.  "  I'll  choose 
one  for  you,"  said  Mrs.  Darling,  "  and  you 
shall  call  her  Cynthia,  after  me.  How  would 
you  like  that?  Suppose  we  say  this  one, 
with  the  forget-me-nots  ?  She  looks  a  little 
like  me,  doesn't  she,  with  her  hair  parted  in 
the  middle  ?  Her  frock  is  made  of  a  piece  of 
one  of  my  own,  and  that  blue  is  my  favorite 
color.  There,  Tibbie,  now  you  have  two 
whole  dollies  and  part  of  another.  You 
must  run  right  home  to  bed.  A  Merry 
Christmas  to  you,  dear  child.  I  am  very 
happy  to  have  made  your  acquaintance." 

The  exuberant  Sally  talked  like  a  clock 
gone  mad  all  the  way  home  through  the 
clear  wintry  night ;  and  since  she  felt  in 
clined  to  conversation,  it  was  well  she  could 
keep  one  up  alone,  for  Tibbie,  who  trotted 
beside  her,  holding  fast  her  dolls,  did  not  ut 
ter  a  single  word. 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 


IN  the  crowded,  unbeautiful  part  of  the 
city  were  two  streets  forming  as  if  the  two 
long  legs  of  the  A  we  knew  as  children,  the 
A  with  feet  wide  apart,  that  stood  for  Ape. 
A  third  street  went  from  one  to  the  other,  as 
the  little  bar  does  across  the  A,  but  crooked, 
as  a  child's  hand  would  draw  it.  This  street 
was  narrow,  gloomy,  and  relatively  quiet. 
The  tide  of  traffic  kept  to  the  larger  streets ; 
the  small  street  knew,  beyond  the  occupants 
of  its  own  houses  and  visitors  to  these,  few 
but  hurried  foot-travellers  who  used  it  as  a 
short  cut,  and  people  of  inferior  pretensions 
coming  there  to  trade.  The  ground-story 
of  almost  every  house  was  a  shop ;  a  person 
might  have  spent  a  life  without  real  necessity 
for  leaving  the  street.  Here  boots  were  made 

59 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

and  mended ;  in  the  next  door,  clothes  were 
sold  (the  dim  show-windows  were  full  of  de 
cent  dresses,  very  good  still  for  what  you 
paid ;  you  could  be  fitted  even  with  a  ball- 
dress,  all  beads  and  satin  bows),  yonder  you 
could  get  money  on  deposit  of  your  watch, 
or  your  flute,  or  your  ear-drops ;  farther  you 
could  have  yourself  shaved.  There  was  a 
window  full  of  tarts  and  loaves  ;  another  win 
dow  in  which  a  roast  fowl  set  its  gold  note, 
as  some  would  say,  between  the  pink  note  of 
half  a  ham  and  the  coral  note  of  a  lobster. 

Across  a  certain  one  of  the  windows  in 
that  street  for  a  long  time  had  hung  from  a 
line,  as  from  the  belt  of  a  savage,  tails  of  hair 
— black,  brown,  blond.  Below  these,  two 
featureless  wax  faces  presented  their  sallow 
blankness  to  the  passer,  one  wreathed  with 
yellow  curls,  the  other  capped  with  brown 
waves  of  a  regular  pattern.  Ordered  around 
the  twin  turned-ebony  stands  were  hairpins, 
sticks  of  cosmetic  wrapped  in  silver  paper, 
slabs  of  chalk  laid  on  pink  cotton,  china  pots 
with  pictures  of  flowers  or  beauties  and  pleas 
ing  inscriptions  in  French,  fuzzy  white  balls 
60 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

of  down,  combs,  gilt-brass  ornaments,  kid- 
capped  phials  containing  amber  and  ruby 
liquids.  On  the  inside  of  the  heavy  shutter, 
caught  back  against  the  street-wall  by  day, 
was  pasted  a  large  print.  This  told  you  in 
what  a  prodigious  way  Madame  Finibald's 
Gold  Elixir  would  make  your  hair  grow,  and 
showed  you  the  picture  of  a  lady  who  doubt 
less  had  used  it — her  hair  was  extraordinary, 
it  nearly  reached  to  her  feet. 

Perhaps  it  had  been  found  that  the  neigh 
borhood  was  become  hardened  to  the  sight 
of  the  luxuriant  pictured  hair  ;  perhaps  some 
who  had  provided  themselves  with  the  small 
copy  of  it,  to  be  obtained  inside  on  a  bottle 
full  of  brown  stuff,  had  grown  inclined  to 
treat  of  it  lightly:  "Ah,  Madame  Finibald  !" 
perhaps  one  irritated  customer  had  said  to 
the  old  proprietress,  coming  to  have  made 
clear  to  her  why  after  three  bottles  of  Gold 
Elixir  her  locks  were  still  not  thick,  still  not 
glossy  and  splendid  as  the  announcement 
promised  they  should  be,  "  it's  easy  to  cork 
up  herb  tea.  It's  easy  to  make  hair  long  in 
a  picture,  and  it's  easy  to  make  it  thick.  I 

61 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

don't  believe  there  ever  was  any  such  person 
as  that  young  woman  on  the  label !"  One 
morning  saw  a  change  in  Madame  Finibald's 
window.  All  the  accustomed  things  were 
crowded  to  the  sides  to  make  room  for  a 
chair ;  on  this  sat  a  girl  with  brown-gold  hair 
that  reached  in  very  truth  to  the  floor. 

On  every  morning  and  every  afternoon, 
through  a  long  winter,  first  one  end  and  then 
the  other  of  the  little  street  was  crossed  by 
a  youth  who  kept  to  the  larger  thorough 
fares  with  the  stream.  He  carried  books  ;  he 
went  rapidly,  granting  small  attention  to  the 
things  he  passed.  It  is  not  from  that  to  be 
supposed  that  he  was  profoundly  thinking. 
His  face,  agreeable  in  feature  and  color,  was 
rather  wanting  in  expression  ;  no  more  in 
teresting  than  it  was  interested.  He  passed 
at  precisely  the  same  hour  every  morning, 
and  the  time  of  his  passing  in  the  afternoon 
varied  but  little.  This,  from  October  unto 
April.  But  when  April  set  its  gold  stamp 
on  the  weather,  had  there  been  any  wise  per 
son  observing  this  well  -  constructed  blond 
machine,  applauding  its  regularity,  holding 
62 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

it  up  perhaps  as  an  example  to  other  young 
frequenters  of  schools  and  lecture-rooms — 
that  wise  person  would  have  been  troubled, 
he  would  have  had  misgivings,  he  would 
have  been  at  last  full  of  grief. 

A  change  had  come  over  the  young  man's 
mood.  His  eye  was  acquiring  a  roving  habit. 
If  his  step  had  before  been  bent  on  duty,  it  was 
now  less  directly  bent ;  if  before  he  had  been 
on  time  at  his  appointments,  he  must  now 
have  been  always  more  or  less  late.  He 
walked  leisurely,  swinging  his  books  by  a 
strap.  He  loitered  before  shop-windows,  he 
turned  to  look  after  a  face.  The  sky  smiled 
down  between  the  rows  of  buildings  on  the 
occasion  of  the  first  balmy  day;  little  clouds 
floated  in  it,  shimmering  like  dissolving 
pearls.  He  returned  the  soft  sky's  compli 
ment  ;  he  looked  up  at  it,  the  winter  stern 
ness  melting  from  his  eyes.  At  every  street 
corner  he  was  seen  to  stop,  foolishly  smiling 
upward ;  and,  yes,  positively,  he  was  seen 
there,  forgetful  of  all  the  people,  to  sigh  and 
stretch  !  On  that  very  day  he  lost  three 
books  out  of  his  strap,  and  did  not  for  some 
63 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

time  notice  it ;  when  he  did,  he  cared  noth 
ing  !  From  a  scrawl  on  the  fly-leaf  the  finder 
of  these  books  learned  their  rightful  owner 
to  be  of  the  house  of  Fraisier. 

He  had  come  hundreds  of  miles  from  an 
obscure  town  to  study  in  this  great  city ;  he 
had  been  a  serious,  mechanical  plodder  for 
months,  feeling  that  he  owed  it  to  himself 
and  to  his  distant  family  to  fill  his  head  full, 
full  with  precious  notions.  He  had  formed 
no  friendships  with  his  fellow-students,  fear 
ing  that  they  would  divert  him,  or  perhaps, 
fearing  the  young  fellows  themselves,  among 
whom  he  felt  singularly  green.  He  lived 
alone  in  one  little  room  at  the  end  of  the 
world,  took  no  holidays,  had  no  fun,  went  to 
bed  early  so  as  to  be  fresh  for  his  book  in 
the  morning.  And  now,  suddenly,  he  had 
completely  lost  the  point  of  view  from  which 
it  had  seemed  necessary  that  he  should  get 
dizzily  high  marks,  that  he  should  conquer 
field  after  field  in  the  realm  of  learning,  and 
return  to  his  home  exuding  glory.  He  could 
not  persuade  himself  any  more  but  that  it 
befitted  him  perfectly  to  spend  many  hours 
64 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

strolling  through  the  streets  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  amusing  his  eyes  with  sights 
of  every  sort.  He  could  find  no  argument 
that  satisfied  him  why  he  should  not  lounge 
on  a  garden  seat  warm  with  sun,  smoking 
cigarettes  half  the  day,  thinking  nothing 
profitable.  The  wretched  boy  had  lost  all 
sober  sense  of  the  duty  of  man. 

If  he  had  limited  himself  to  sitting  idle  in 
the  garden,  watching  the  year  develop  in  that 
narrow,  charming  enclosure,  one  might  have 
found  an  excuse  for  him,  the  same  as  for  the 
scientist  who  studies  a  specimen  under  a 
glass ;  or,  one  might  have  said  he  had  been 
overworking,  his  new  circumstances  on  com 
ing  to  the  city  had  induced  in  him  a  false 
sort  of  fervor  for  work — a  reaction  was  to 
be  expected.  But  the  mood  whose  first 
stage  had  been  simple  disinclination  for  study 
and  a  taste  for  pointless  wanderings,  by  the 
time  that  in  the  march  of  the  year  the  cro 
cuses  had  gone,  took  on  developments.  It 
was  not  so  often  before  a  many -colored 
flower-bed  he  stopped,  as  before  a  window 
full  of  hats  and  bonnets. 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

If,  again,  he  had  limited  himself  to  staring 
in  at  milliners'  fronts !  The  wares  there  do 
somewhat  resemble  fantastic  flowers,  and 
might  explain  the  interest  of  a  botanist. 
But  he  halted  in  the  same  way  before  shops 
that  offered  no  excuse  for  the  same  attention ; 
windows  in  which  were  only  idle  feminine 
frocks  displayed,  flippant  fans,  frills  of  fluted 
lace,  feathery  things  for  the  neck. 

One  might  have  imagined  from  his  won 
der  and  interest  that  all  these  things  had  just 
been  invented,  that  they  were  a  strange 
spring-crop ;  that  new,  too,  was  the  race  of 
smiling,  chatting,  shopping  beings  crowding 
the  street  on  sunny  days,  new  and  in  fashion 
only  since  this  spring,  such  unaccustomed 
pleasure  spoke  in  his  eye  that  shyly  followed 
them  in  their  prettiest  representatives.  What 
exquisite  sense  shown,  O  ever-young  Creator, 
in  making  the  lip  red,  and  the  neck  white, 
and  the  temperate  cheek  between  white  and 
red! 

The  boy  had  moments  of  being  drunk  in  a 
glorified  way  even  as  is  the  innocent  bee, 
with  nothing  but  wandering  among  flowers. 

66 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

Owing  to  a  confusion  in  the  ideas  attendant 
on  that  mysterious  soft  travailing  among  the 
atoms  of  the  heart  warmed  through  by  spring, 
all  sorts  of  things  to  him  were  as  flowers  ! 
His  imagination  was  so  increased  in  power, 
that  with  nothing  but  a  pair  of  little  shoes  in 
a  show-case  to  start  from  he  could  build  up 
the  most  astonishing,  dreamy  stories  :  he 
could  set  feet  in  the  shoes  and  rear  a  palatial 
flesh-and-blood  structure  over  them,  as  easy 
as  sigh ;  fit  the  whole  with  graces,  laces,  cir 
cumstances  and  adventures — contrive  even 
to  tangle  its  fate  pleasingly  with  his  own. 

Which  may  make  supposed  that  he  was  a 
youth  of  some  boldness.  Far  from  it.  He 
scarcely  knew  what  a  woman's  eyes  were  like, 
except  in  profile  or  fugitive  three-quarters ; 
on  the  other  hand,  he  was  well  acquainted 
with  her  back  hair.  Hair,  in  which  he  could 
pursue  long  studies  unconfounded,  seemed 
to  him  the  most  beautiful  thing  in  all  the 
world. 

One  day,  with  a  view  to  lengthening  the 
way  by  taking  a  road  that  though  shorter 
must  from  novelty  be  richer  in  diversion  than 
67 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

his  daily  track,  he  turned  into  the  little  street 
that  cut  off  the  triangle  of  the  A.  He  paused 
before  the  window  of  the  worn  watches  and 
sleeve-links ;  he  took  his  time  over  the  faded 
finery  of  the  second-hand  clothes  shop;  he 
examined  certain  yellowed  wood -cuts  and 
stained  books  he  found  in  a  narrow  open 
stall.  As  he  seemed  coming  to  the  end  of 
the  street's  resources,  he  looked  over  the  way 
and  thoughtfully  felt  his  cheek :  he  could  not 
find  there  what  would  have  justified  a  refresh 
ing  station  at  the  barber's.  He  continued 
his  way  slowly,  to  make  it  last.  Now,  he 
stopped  where  several  others  were  likewise 
stopping — he  had  come  to  Madame  Fini- 
bald's. 

The  girl  sat  amid  her  hair,  either  uncon 
scious  or  disdainful  of  the  eyes  watching  her 
beyond  the  glass.  She  looked  in  a  book 
open  on  her  lap ;  now  and  then  she  turned 
over  a  leaf,  sometimes  revealing  a  picture  on 
the  page.  Her  chair  was  low,  perhaps  so 
that  her  hair  should  amply  trail ;  its  lowness 
made  an  excuse  for  the  listlessness  of  her 
posture ;  her  feet  were  outstretched  and 

68 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

crossed,  the  passers  might  know  that  one  of 
her  shoes  was  laced  with  pink  twine.  If  she 
moved  her  eyes  from  her  book  a  moment,  it 
was  only  to  sweep  them  past  the  faces,  unsee 
ing,  and  lift  them  to  the  strip  of  sky  between 
the  houses — so  blue  this  day,  the  little  bit 
there  was  of  it. 

Her  face  one  scarcely  noticed  for  the  first 
moment  more  than  any  rosy  apple ;  for  oh ! 
her  hair! — her  hair  claimed  all  the  attention 
a  man  had  to  give,  did  her  shining  hair  falling 
stately  along  her  cheeks,  all  over  her  shoul 
ders,  below  her  waist,  beyond  her  garment — 
richer,  of  course,  than  any  possible  queen's 
cloak.  The  light  rippled  over  it,  changing 
on  it  all  the  time,  when  nothing  else  in  the 
window  appeared  to  live. 

Within  the  shadow  of  the  shop  was  dis 
cerned  a  watchful,  wrinkled  old  face,  chiefly 
differing  from  a  parrot's  in  the  slyness  of  its 
eyes.  Fraisier  catching  sight  of  it  thought 
of  a  witch  on  guard  over  a  princess  enchant 
ed  and  imprisoned  in  a  glass-case. 

The  little  group  in  front  of  Madame  Fini- 
bald's  dispersed,  formed  anew  with  other 
69 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

faces  many  times  in  the  hour ;  Fraisier  re 
mained,  his  eyes  climbing  up,  sliding  down 
the  golden  ropes  of  hair. 

At  last,  though  the  girl  gave  no  sign,  he 
was  made  uncomfortable  by  the  sense  that 
she  must,  even  without  looking,  have  seen 
how  long  he  stood.  He  inquired  timidly 
of  her  face.  It  was  informed  with  a  gentle 
brazenness,  fortified  to  be  stared  at  all  the 
day.  Yet  there  was  a  suggestion  of  child 
ishness  in  its  abstracted  expression ;  she 
wore  the  sort  of  look  one  has  seen  on  the 
face  of  a  little  girl  playing  at  being  some 
body  else  far  more  splendid  than  herself. 
A  close  observer  might  have  suspected  that 
she  really  thought  it  rather  grand  to  sit  there 
in  the  gorgeousness  of  her  hair,  and  was 
amused  with  pretending  not  to  know  that  a 
soul  looked  on. 

Fraisier,  because  her  eyes  were  lowered, 
found  hardihood  to  stare  his  fill  at  her  face. 
He  surrendered  without  struggle  before  the 
round  cheeks,  the  short  little  nose,  the  good- 
natured  mouth  and  chin,  which,  in  truth,  took 
more  than  their  just  space  in  the  face.  But 
70 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

most  —  oh,  still  most!  delighted  him  the 
brown-gold  hair  that  tumbled  over  her  fore 
head  and  ears  in  little  curls. 

He  was  realizing  from  the  mutterings  of 
what  was  left  him  of  a  conscience  how  late 
it  must  be  getting — he  must  be  taking  him 
self  off;  he  was  making  long  the  one  minute 
more  he  allowed  himself,  when  her  pupils  slid 
between  the  lashes  in  his  direction.  He  had 
lost  all  presence  of  mind,  he  could  not  with 
draw  his  glance.  After  a  second's  pause 
upon  his,  her  eyes  slid  back  to  her  book  and 
were  hidden.  Then,  without  another^thought 
towards  duty,  he  crossed  the  street  to  the 
barber's,  from  whose  window  he  could  see 
Madame  Finibald's;  and,  coming  forth  with 
a  smoother  face  than  the  rose,  entered  the 
little  eating-shop  next  door,  from  which  like 
wise  he  could  command  Madame  Finibald's. 

He  went  through  the  little  street  every  day. 
He  took  many  atrocious  meals  in  the  shop, 
on  the  table  nearest  the  window. 

On  such  days  as  brought  perfect  weather, 
the  girl  in  Madame  Finibald's  would  turn 
very  often  to  the  sky  a  look  easily  inter- 
71 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

preted  as  longing.  Then  would  Fraisier 
look  up  too  and  sigh.  It  seemed  such  a 
pity,  this  wasted  blue  weather. 

It  seemed  such  a  pity,  all  this  wasted 
sweetness,  he  thought  in  crossing  a  public 
garden  on  his  occasional  unwilling  way  to  a 
lecture.  The  quince-tree  blossomed  in  red ; 
under  the  cherry  were  little  drifts  of  scented 
snow ;  up  out  of  the  vigorous,  rested  earth 
were  flowers  springing  in  mad,  gay  multi 
tudes.  The  air  was  silver  made  air  in  the 
morning;  and  in  the  afternoon  it  was  gold 
made  air.  Birds,  busily  building,  busily  twit 
tered.  These  things  did  nothing  to  him,  but 
the  more  they  were  lovely  and  penetrated  the 
heart,  the  more  to  make  him  lonesome. 

He  took  himself  away  from  their  radiance 
without  one  regret  for  them,  to  spend  his 
time  in  preference  in  an  ugly  little  street 
where  one  could  scarcely  have  known  what 
season  it  was,  where  there  was  nothing  to  see 
that  was  beautiful  but  certain  long,  long  hair. 
In  thought,  though,  let  it  be  said  in  vindica 
tion  of  spring's  power  of  enthralling,  having 
done  up  the  hair  in  braids,  and  extinguished 
72 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

it  with  a  hat,  he  was  always,  always  guiding 
it  to  the  contemned  garden.  When  once  it 
was  in  the  garden,  May  there  had  become 
perfect. 

He  wondered  whether  it  could  be  she  had 
become  aware  of  his  persistent  presence.  He 
feared  she  had,  and  as  often  that  she  had  not. 
He  imagined  sometimes  that  when  he  looked 
her  face  was  quivering  with  a  conquered 
desire  to  smile.  That  disconcerted  him  a 
shade.  Sometimes  he  thought  she  looked 
suspiciously  rosy  for  a  girl  unconscious  of  all 
the  world.  Sometimes  he  looked  away,  with 
the  idea  that  if  he  turned  suddenly  he  should 
find  her  stealing  a  glance  at  him.  But  he 
dared  not  look  very  quickly,  lest  the  action 
should  be  too  marked  ;  and  turning  with  dis 
creet  alacrity,  he  could  never  feel  sure. 

One  day,  at  last,  having  settled  in  his  mind 
that  this  tame  conduct  was  unworthy  of  a 
man,  refusing  himself  a  second  in  which  to 
think  better  of  any  matter,  he  crossed  the 
street  and  charged  the  shop.  A  bell  snapped 
sharply  as  he  opened  the  door.  It  startled 
him  to  the  point  of  gasping.  He  grew 

73 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

crimson,  finding  himself  opposed  in  truth,  as 
many  a  night  before  in  dream,  by  Madame 
Finibald's  sly  and  lowly  smile,  breathing  the 
same  faintly  drug-perfumed  air  as  the  prin 
cess  breathed,  no  glass  screen  between  him 
self  and  the  hair.  He  could  have  touched  it, 
had  he  been  so  bold. 

He  stammered  a  request  for  soap — scented 
soap.  He  wished  himself  tens  of  ten  miles 
away,  or  time  out  of  mind  dead,  when  — 
wonderful !  The  maiden  in  the  window 
looked  frankly  over  her  shoulder.  Was  it 
that  her  eyes  brimmed  with  friendly  laughter, 
or  did  it  seem  so  to  him  because  his  head 
had  become  incapable  of  a  true  notion? 
His  heart,  so  to  speak,  found  its  feet;  he 
made  a  muddle  of  every  sentence  he  launched 
upon,  but  his  words  had  a  voice  behind  them. 
So  much  he  contrived  to  convey :  he  was 
very  hard  to  please  in  the  matter  of  soap.  He 
sniffed  at  a  variety  of  proffered  tablets,  whose 
virtues  Madame  Finibald,  in  very  truth  like 
a  witch  with  a  philter  to  sell,  assiduously  set 
forth ;  each  cake  he  examined  seemed  to 
hold  in  her  estimation  just  a  little  higher 

74 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

place  than  the  foregoing.  At  the  end  of  ten 
minutes,  without  positively  losing  her  good- 
humor,  she  declared  that  he  had  seen  all  in 
the  shop,  she  was  sorry  and  surprised  they 
could  not  suit  him,  they  might  have  a  fresh 
stock  in  on  the  morrow.  He  was  leaving  in 
clumsy  embarrassment,  empty  handed,  with 
a  promise  to  return,  when  the  princess 
lightly  jumped  from  the  window-place,  and, 
sweeping  the  hair  off  her  face,  said :  "There 
is  one  more  sort,  ma'am.  I  saw  it  up  there, 
high,  when  I  dusted.  Let  me  get  it." 

She  fetched  the  steps,  and  in  a  moment 
had  climbed  and  lifted  down  a  box.  She 
set  it  on  the  counter;  she  opened  it  herself 
and  held  towards  him,  with  a  direct  glance, 
a  packet  with  a  red  rose  printed  on  the 
wrapper. 

Madame  Finibald,  with  an  exclamation, 
snatched  it  from  the  girl's  hand,  and  began, 
as  if  here  had  been  a  little  grandchild  recov 
ered  to  her  old  age,  to  speak  with  tenderness 
of  its  merits.  The  girl  stood  near,  twining 
and  untwining  a  lock  around  her  finger, 
while  she  unaffectedly  looked  at  the  cus- 

75 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

tomer.  Her  hair  came  below  her  knees ; 
every  moment  she  had  to  toss  it  back  out  of 
her  face. 

"  Go  back  to  your  window,  wicked  child  !" 
cried  the  old  witch,  suddenly,  as  if  catching 
at  a  piece  of  gold  as  it  was  being  taken  out 
of  her  pocket.  "  Go  back  !" 

"I  am  tired  of  sitting!"  said  the  little 
princess,  twisting  her  shoulders  in  her  frock 
with  the  prettiest  peevishness.  "  I  have  sat 
and  sat  and  sat !  I  have  finished  my  story. 
Let  me  go  out  and  get  a  bun.  You  know 
you  said  I  could  when  it  was  noon." 

She  caught  at  her  hair,  and,  to  the  infinite 
wonder  of  one  looking  on,  began  twisting, 
twisting,  twisting,  coiling,  coiling,  coiling, 
driving  in  great  skewers — while  he  filled  his 
blissful  pockets  with  rose-scented  soap. 

The  bell  snapped  in  fretful  reprehension 
for  her  passing  out.  Less  than  a  minute 
after,  it  exclaimed  in  annoyed  surprise  for 
his. 

Now  was  he  no  longer  made  lonesome  by 
every  coquettish  touch  the  more  that  the 
year  put  to  her  toilet.  For  the  girl  of  the 
76 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

regal  hair  smiled  to  him,  surreptitiously  with 
her  lips,  but  unguardedly  with  her  eyes,  when 
he  came  by  her  glass-case  ;  while  he  dawdled 
in  the  window  opposite,  she  communicated 
with  him  by  signs  no  other  eye  could  have 
perceived.  Even  before  their  acquaintance 
had  become  very  old,  she  slipped  out  to  walk 
in  the  garden,  and  they  sat  on  the  green  seats 
and  had  long,  foolish,  youthful  talks — delight 
ful,  foolish,  youthful  times. 

Her  conversation  took  an  amusing  interest 
from  the  peculiarities  of  her  education.  She 
had  seen  and  heard  much  in  her  short  life  in 
a  hard  world,  where  it  was  no  one's  affair  to 
keep  anything  from  her  young  ken — much  of 
dark,  and  petty,  and  unpicturesque — preserv 
ing  through  all  a  sort  of -hardy  innocence; 
and  she  had  borrowed  from  a  cheap  circulat 
ing  library  a  vast  lot  of  fiction  dealing  with 
the  supremely  grand.  Her  preference  in 
literature,  however,  had  remained  for  fairy 
tales,  a  taste  formed  when  it  had  been  one 
of  her  duties  to  read  aloud  to  certain  little 
children  of  the  rich.  She  knew  them  by  the 
score.  It  was  to  this,  perhaps,  some  of  her 

77 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

remarks  owed  the  fanciful  touch  that  re 
deemed  them  from  the  commonness  of  her 
general  conversation — a  genial  commonness, 
condoned  to  such  young  lips.  She  had  a 
childish  way  of  lending  a  personality  to 
everything,  that  amused  him  more  than 
epigram  would  have  done.  She  ascribed 
intention  to  the  wind  that  blew  off  her  hat, 
and  stopped  to  express  her  mind  to  it.  She 
assumed  consciousness  in  the  bench  they  sat 
on  ;  she  wanted  to  take  the  same  one,  lest  it 
should  think  they  slighted  it  because  it  was 
rickety,  for  which  it  was  not  to  blame.  Ev 
ery  flower  was  to  her  a  person.  "  Hush ! 
They  are  listening !"  she  said,  looking  from 
the  corner  of  her  eye  at  a  bank  of  know 
ing  pansies.  She  scolded  a  button  for  com 
ing  off,  as  if  the  want  of  principle  shown 
by  it  had  been  a  thing  to  revolt  her.  She 
stood  in  a  one  -  sided  relation  of  good- 
fellowship  with  the  brown  birds  hopping 
among  the  gravel,  and  the  fishes  in  the 
pond;  she  spared  them  many  crumbs.  With 
homely  good-heartedness  she  took  into  an 
amused  regard  all  the  family  of  spring — 
78 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

buds,  blades,  insects — addressing  speech  to 
them  as  if  she  had  been  a  giant  and  they  a 
very  little  people. 

Never  can  spring  return  without  Fraisier's 
remembering  that  spring.  It  was  bright;  by 
it  all  the  springs  following  have  been  cast  in 
the  shadow. 

The  long  hair  was  woven  through  and 
through  his  thoughts ;  but  not  as  a  disturb 
ing,  upheaving  element.  The  girl  made  him 
waste  a  great  deal  of  time,  but  nothing  else 
— not  the  life  of  his  heart.  Because  of  her 
good-nature,  her  entire  want  of  coquetry  or 
perverseness,  his  feeling  for  her  complicated 
itself  in  nowise ;  rather  it  grew  simpler  as  it 
insensibly  changed.  His  wonder  and  fine 
dread  at  feminine  appurtenances  had  worn 
away  a  little  with  increased  familiarity ;  he 
reposed  on  that  fact  as  if  it  had  been  such 
an  one  as  becoming  accustomed  to  the  noise 
of  guns.  He  felt  under  delicate  obligations 
to  her  for  having  routed  his  shyness,  and  not 
at  all  tormented  him  in  any  of  the  thousand 
ways  he  apprehended  a  feminine  being  would 
have  at  her  command. 

79 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

As  he  was  less  and  less  in  awe  of  her  and 
that  suspected  arsenal,  though  a  charming, 
fearful  element  went  out  of  his  sentiment, 
his  affection  perhaps  grew  more.  She  made 
such  a  good  little  comrade  !  Insidiously, 
she  connected  herself  in  his  mind  with  future 
days  —  she  who  cared  only  for  the  day  and 
the  pleasure  thereof.  When  he  spoke  of  a 
thing  it  would  be  pleasant  to  do,  a  place 
pleasant  to  visit,  he  said,  always  unreflect 
ingly,  yet  from  a  sincere  heart :  "  Some  day 
we  must  go  there.  Let  us  do  such  a  thing 
some  time."  When  he  described  the  hills 
and  ponds  of  home,  he  said  what  they  might 
have  done  had  she  been  there  last  summer 
or  the  years  before,  how  they  might  have 
rowed  and  rambled.  He  painted  the  good 
time  they  might  have  together,  in  some  not 
impossible,  but  not  specified  time,  place,  and 
circumstances. 

So  the  green  from  tender  grew  brilliant — 
grew  deep — became  void  of  interest  to  the 
accustomed  eye,  and  more  or  less  dust  settled 
over  it.  It  was  manifest  to  all  that  spring 
was  past. 

80 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

Then  began  an  anxious  time.  Those 
lectures,  those  miserable  lectures !  Those 
courses,  those  wretched  courses,  which  he 
had  neglected !  That  blessed  information 
he  had  spared  to  cull  when  the  time  was  for 
it !  These  things  seemed  likely  to  get  their 
revenge.  When  he  awoke  to  a  sense  of  his 
danger  —  very  late!  only  when  the  bloom 
was  off  the  year,  when  lily  and  early  rose 
had  gone  where  they  could  divert  no  mortal 
more — he  could  not  believe  that  he  should 
not,  by  fitting  exertion,  catch  up  in  time  at 
the  appointed  goal.  He  worked  rabidly, 
with  a  wet  cloth  around  his  head.  He 
thought  not  of  girls  in  those  days,  I  promise 
you  ;  he  recked  not  of  bronze-gold  hair ! 

It  was  written  that  he  should  not  be 
saved.  He  closed  his  school  term  pitiably 
conditioned. 

When  the  worst  was  known,  at  least  was 
time  to  breathe,  however  sore  the  lungs, 
then  his  mind  reverted  to  her.  He  had 
been  man  enough  to  harbor  no  spite  towards 
her,  accuse  her  of  nothing.  He  sent  her  a 
message  and  waited  at  the  appointed  place, 
F  81 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

wondering  a  little,  while  he  waited,  at  his 
follies  of  the  spring.  They  seemed  so  un 
necessary,  looked  back  upon  now.  Why, 
in  a  very  real,  practical  world  like  this  one, 
where  a  man's  failure  to  pass  his  exams  was 
sure  to  call  forth  from  his  progenitor  letters 
such  as  his  pocket  at  this  moment  contained, 
conduct  one's  self  as  if  existing  in  a  world 
of  lambs  and  purling  streams  and  shepherd 
esses?  He  was  one  with  the  actual  world  in 
looking  with  astonishment  and  condemna 
tion  upon  his  own  works.  The  sky  above 
was  hard,  barren  blue;  it  seemed  so  easy, 
looking  back,  to  have  stuck  to  the  approved 
road.  What  had  possessed  him  ? 

Then  she  appeared.  At  sight  of  her  his 
heart  dropped  its  armor.  She  brought  back 
a  whiff  of  the  sweetness  of  a  past  atmosphere. 
Was  it  possible  he  had  ever  been  the  happy 
boy  he  seemed  to  remember  !  He  smiled  up 
in  her  face  with  cheek-muscles  stiffened  by 
disuse,  and  eyes  ringed  with  studious  shadows. 
She  had  on  a  flimsy  frock,  printed  all  over 
with  little  flowers  that  seemed  to  him  to 
smell  good ;  her  hair,  where  the  great  wad 
82 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

projected  beyond  the  straw  brim,  was  touched 
with  a  warm,  peculiar  glory.  He  had  meant 
to  keep  himself  well  hardened  against  her, 
tell  her  the  various  things  necessary  in  a 
matter-of-fact  way,  and  bid  her  good-bye 
indefinitely.  He  felt  more  like  crying  with 
his  disgraced  head  in  her  lap. 

He  conquered  his  weakness.  ...  A  pret 
ty  man  he  made ! 

He  got  out  with  sufficient  composure  and 
dignity  what  he  had  to  say.  He  told  her  all 
that  had  happened,  the  change  it  made  in 
the  coming  months.  He  was  not  going 
home  for  the  holidays ;  he  could  not  endure 
to  see  the  folks.  He  was  going  into  the 
country  to  spend  the  summer  in  hard  study, 
to  make  sure  of  "  passing  "  next  term.  He 
was  going  to  the  particular  place  he  men 
tioned  because  he  had  a  friend  there,  a  fellow 
he  had  taken  up  with  in  the  last  weeks,  one 
that  had  had  the  same  bad  luck  as  himself. 
This  man's  family  lived  there ;  it  would  not 
be  quite  so  dreary  as  being  alone. 

She  chaffed  and  consoled  him  in  turns. 
Now  that  the  world  had  gone  all  wrong  with 
83 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

him,  her  eyes  seemed  to  him  sweeter  and 
softer  than  he  had  ever  observed.  What  a 
good,  kind  little  friend  !  Lord  !  what  a  good, 
crazy,  light-hearted  time  they  had  had,  and 
how  pretty  she  looked  to-day !  What  won 
derful,  thrice  wonderful  hair  it  was,  waving 
and  ringletting  about  her  glowing  summer 
face,  coiling  massively  on  the  back  of  her 
head  !  No  woman  on  earth  had  such  hair! 

He  did  wish  for  a  moment  that  Green,  his 
new  friend,  might  see  her — he  was  proud  of 
her.  One  night,  when  they  had  sat  grinding 
together  for  mutual  assistance,  the  oil  giving 
out,  Green  had  told  him  of  a  cousin  of  his. 
Fraisier  had  said  nothing  of  any  girl.  He 
only  wished  that  Green  might  see  the  hair 
of  this  girl  whose  name  he  had  foreborne  to 
speak. 

Good-bye,  Minnie !  He  should  be  working 
like  a  slave  all  through  the  burning  golden 
days  —  let  her  think  of  him  a  little.  He 
should  be  very  lonesome.  When  he  had 
studied  until  his  eyes  smarted  and  his  head 
swam,  there  would  be  nothing  pleasant  to 
do,  no  one  pleasant  to  talk  with — she  might 
84 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

spare  a  moment  to  be  sorry  for  him  now 
and  then.  He  should  be  back  in  the  fall. 
Bless  the  beautiful  and  beautiful  and  beauti 
ful  hair!  Good-bye,  Minnie ! 

She  so  little  perished  from  his  mind  after 
their  parting  that  whenever — as  Green  and 
he  lay  under  the  trees,  withdrawn  from  the 
world  and  devoted  to  arduous  studies,  keep 
ing  off  the  insects  by  smoke — Green  began 
talking  about  that  cousin  of  his,  Fraisier 
became  half  sick  with  reminiscence.  He 
could  not  resist  replying  by  talking  —  with 
the  finest,  shyest  reverence  always — of  Min 
nie.  There  was  a  dreamy  solace  in  talking 
of  her  to  some  one.  She  described  so  well, 
too ;  so  unusually.  He  had  a  proud  secret 
assurance  that  as  an  incident  in  a  man's  life 
she  altogther  eclipsed  a  cousin  in  interest. 

"How  long  is  your  cousin's  hair?"  he 
asked,  with  assumed  casualness,  once.  Green 
stared  a  little,  and  confessed  not  having  the 
slightest  idea.  Fraisier  opened  his  arms  as 
wide  as  they  could  go,  and  said,  vaguely 
blushing,  "  The  young  lady  I  spoke  of  has 
hair  as  long  as  this !" 
85 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

"  Come  !  I  should  like  to  see  it !"  spoke 
Green,  in  such  a  tone  that  Fraisier  turned  a 
deep,  vexed  red. 

He  said  nothing,  but  on  the  next  day  took 
his  books  to  a  different  place,  choosing  to 
keep  to  himself  so  long  as  Green  did  not  seek 
him  with  a  suitable  apology. 

The  spot  selected  by  the  young  men  as  a 
meeting  ground  lay  at  an  equal  distance 
between  Green's  home  and  the  cottage  in 
which  Fraisier  had  taken  up  his  summer 
quarters.  It  was  on  the  skirts  of  a  wood, 
and,  by  some  accident  of  the  land,  often  cool 
when  other  places  were  hot.  The  rolling 
pasture  it  commanded  was  dotted  with 
scrubby  evergreens,  and  crossed  by  a  small 
brook  the  cow's  hoofs  had  in  some  places 
trodden  broad  and  shallow.  It  was  colored 
in  patches  with  the  frequent  pink  of  clover- 
heads,  surprised  here  and  there  with  the 
white  of  a  long-necked,  belated  daisy. 

Fraisier  took  himself  to  a  spot  just  not  so 
far  from  the  usual  haunt  but  that  Green 
when  he  came  might  see  him. 

It   was   a   fair,  soft,  simmering   morning, 

86 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

promising  a  scorching  day.  He  stretched 
himself  under  the  trees  and  lighted  a  pipe — he 
had  taken  to  a  pipe  in  place  of  cigarettes  since 
coming  into  the  wilderness.  He  composed 
himself  for  a  serious  forenoon's  work,  deciding 
that  it  was  much  more  profitable,  after  all,  to 
study  alone — Green  was  always  digressing. 

The  spot  he  had  chosen  was  not  so  good, 
it  proved,  as  the  one  he  had  left  clear  for 
Green.  A  path  ran  through  the  woods,  just 
within  the  trees ;  there  was  a  frequent  patter 
of  bare  feet  on  the  dust,  children  with  pails 
passed  looking  for  things.  He  waited  to 
proceed  with  his  theorem  till  their  high 
piping,  scattered  voices  had  died  away.  It 
was  not  so  cool,  either ;  as  a  fact,  it  was 
hotter  than  most  places.  He  did  not  crave 
the  exertion  of  seeking  a  better ;  this  was  at 
least  shady.  He  turned  over  on  his  back 
and  closed  his  eyes,  yielding  gracefully  to 
the  force  of  circumstances. 

A  light  blow  in  the  face,  from  an  acorn, 
perhaps,  roused  him.     He  thought  of  Green, 
and,  instantly  broad  awake,  looked  for  the 
development  of  some  practical  joke. 
87 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

It  was  not  Green — he  saw  it  with  a  sort  of 
disappointment.  It  was  one  of  the  berry- 
seeking  children  that  had  caught  sight  of  him 
snoozing,  and  followed  its  natural  instinct. 
A  boy's  grinning  head  was  seen  bobbing 
above  one  of  the  neighboring  bushes.  He 
turned  from  it  in  disgust  and  felt  surlily 
about  the  grass  for  his  pipe,  about  his  per 
son  for  a  match — 

Gracious  powers  !  what  sort  did  the  young 
one  take  him  for,  with  this  free  persecution  ? 
Another  acorn  had  hit  him  smartly  on  the 
head. 

"  Look  out,  there !"  he  called,  making  a 
feint  of  rising  to  give  chase. 

"  Come  on  !"  shouted  the  boy,  gayly,  from 
behind  the  bush.  There  was  a  burst  of 
laughter,  a  flash  and  flutter  of  pink,  and  the 
boy,  who  turned  out  to  be  a  girl,  came  pre 
cipitately  towards  him.  She  stopped  just 
short  of  a  collision,  and  dropped  in  the  grass 
panting  with  laughter.  He  stared  at  her 
blankly.  Every  time  she  looked  up  and 
caught  sight  of  his  expression  she  doubled 
herself  and  fairly  writhed. 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

"  He  doesn't  know  me  ! — he  doesn't  know 
me  !"  she  brought  forth  amid  her  convulsive 
giggling. 

"  Minnie  !  My  God  !  What — what  have 
you  done  to  yourself  ?"  he  exclaimed,  and 
had  no  breath  left. 

She  moderated  her  laughter,  and  presented 
her  smiling  face  a  moment  for  him  to  see 
well  what  had  happened.  She  ran  her  fin 
gers  over  her  cropped  head,  ruffling  it  ab 
surdly,  making  the  short  locks  stand  on  end. 

"  Isn't  it  funny?  Doesn't  a  person  look 
funny  at  first?  The  rest  of  it  is  hanging, 
like  a  fairy  horse's  tail,  in  the  window,  across 
the  picture  of  the  Elixir  lady.  (Bad  old 
woman  !  Cheat!  She  didn't  give  me  much 
for  it!  But,  Natty  Fraisier,  I  would  have 
taken  even  less,  I  did  want  to  come  so !) 
You  poor,  lonesome  boy  !  I  can  stay  a  whole 
week — perhaps  more.  I  have  found  a  place 
in  the  village,  just  near  you.  The  first  child 
I  met  told  me  all  I  wanted  to  know.  I 
thought  it  would  have  been  harder.  Mercy ! 
isn't  it  heavenly  still  and  sweet  here,  with 
hills  and  cows?  I  was  never  in  the  true 
89 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

country  before.  Mercy  !  isn't  it  good?  Look 
out,  you  flower  there — over  there,  you,  miss  ! 
That  is  called  a  bee;  he  has  a  terrible  stinger 
— oh,  he  is  an  old  acquaintance?  Go  ahead, 
then,  and  give  him  a  nice  swing,  and  honey 
for  his  tea.  Oh,  Natty,  I  am  so  glad  !  Aren't 
you  glad?" 

He  choked  and  cleared  his  throat.  No, 
without  that  voice,  never  in  the  world  would 
he  have  known  her.  Before  him  seemed  to 
be  a  common  little  street-boy  who  had  run 
off  in  a  girl's  new  pink  dress  and  shiny  shoes 
— an  unknown  boy  whose  features  had  some 
thing  painfully  familiar.  Strange !  He  re 
membered  Minnie's  face  as  possessing  a  cer 
tain  harmony  in  its  lines,  however  childish 
and  trivial  they  were;  this  terrible  little  im 
postor,  though  not  ill  favored,  was  broad  of 
jaw  and  narrow  of  forehead ;  his  eyes  even 
were  not  the  same,  but  smaller  and  nearer 
together,  while  the  mouth  was  larger  —  its 
very  proneness  to  laughter  increased  its  com 
monness.  And  that  ridiculous  hair — literally 
chopped  off  by  an  unskilled  hand  and  twisted 
here  and  there  with  unpractised  tongs !  It 

QO 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

was  so  thick,  it  had  no  more  light  or  lustre 
than  a  hearth-brush. 

Her  face  sobered  ever  so  little  as  she  looked 
at  him.  "What  is  the  matter?  Poor  dear! 
you  haven't  got  over  those  exams.  But  I 
won't  bother,  you  know,  and  take  up  all  your 
time;  I  have  learned  better.  I  won't  inter 
fere  with  any  work,  I  promise,  Natty.  See  me 
swear?  On  this  algebra!  Only,  before  you 
begin  and  when  you  have  done  each  day,  we 
will  go  for  walks  and  rows.  I  saw  a  boat  on 
the  pond.  We  will  have  lunch  on  the  grass, 
and  make  a  fire  with  sticks  we  pick  up. 
Look !  you  put  three  long  sticks  like  that 
and  hang  the  kettle  in  the  middle.  We  will 
do  all  those  things  we  used  to  plan  when  we 
never  much  thought  there  would  be  a  chance. 
You  poor,  lonesome  boy,  have  you  been  hav 
ing  a  horrid  time?  We  will  make  up  for  it 
now.  Natty,  you  don't  care  about  the  hair, 
do  you?  You  needn't.  You  know,  I  had 
got  mortally  sick  of  sitting  in  that  window. 
I  could  not  have  stood  it  a  day  longer. 
When  a  fly  buzzed  on  the  pane  I  wanted  to 
scream.  Again  and  again  I  have  come  near 
91 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

putting  my  foot  through  the  glass  at  one  of 
the  gaping  faces,  then  jumping  down  and 
catching  the  old  woman  while  she  told  lies 
about  my  having  used  her  Elixir  faithfully 
— never  touched  a  drop  !— and  dancing  her 
up  and  down  all  around  the  room  until  she 
dropped.  I  shall  go  back  to  taking  care  of 
little  children  now,  as  I  did  before  she  found 
me.  I  do  love  children !  And  in  that  busi 
ness,  I  don't  mind  telling  you,  I  shall  do 
better  without  all  that  hair.  No  matter  how 
tight  I  did  it  up,  some  one  was  always  grum 
bling  that  it  made  too  much  show.  You 
mustn't  care  a  bit  about  the  hair,  Natty ;  I 
gave  it  up  without  a  twinge.  I  cut  it  off 
with  my  own  hands.  You  have  no  idea 
how  much  comfortabler  this  is  in  hot  weath 
er.  My  head  feels  so  light !  I  can  dip  it  in 
the  water  any  minute.  I  do  love  it  like 
this !" 

She  ran  her  hands  through  her  hair  again, 
ruffling  it  still  more  fantastically.  Fraisier 
winced.  He  was  sick  beyond  calculating 
the  degree.  "  Oh,  my  poor  girl!''  he  con 
trived  at  last  to  say. 

92 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

She  looked  at  him  more  closely  than  be 
fore  in  her  overrunning  joy,  and  her  face 
fell  a  little.  No  doubt  she  had  seen  herself 
in  mirrors  since  her  alteration,  but  not  in  a 
real  mirror  until  she  saw  herself  reflected  in 
his  very  pale  face.  She  smiled  still,  but  a 
little  foolishly;  then  no  more,  and  stopped 
chatting.  It  was  as  if  a  stone  had  been  set 
to  seal  up  a  spring — a  large  stone  laid  upon 
her  bubbling  heart.  There  was  a  silence. 

He  saw  that  she  must  be  seeing  what  he 
could  not  keep  out  of  his  face.  He  could 
not  help  it ;  he  could  get  no  control  over  his 
feelings,  over  his  expression.  He  was  not 
sure  he  cared  to — he  did  not  try.  He  was 
at  sea :  he  did  not  know  what  he  felt,  what 
he  did  not  feel.  The  bottom  seemed  to 
have  dropped  out  of  his  heart,  out  of  the 
world — out  of  something,  everything.  He 
knew  not!  He  only  knew  he  was  sick  — 
sick,  and  incapable  of  speech,  of  action,  of 
reflection. 

"You  can't  stay  here,  child,"  he  heard 
some  one  saying,  in  a  matter-of-fact,  super 
ficial  voice.  "  Don't  you  see,  yourself,  that 
93 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

you  can't?  For  your  own  sake,  I  mean.  It 
would  never  do,  Minnie.  You  must  under 
stand  that.  You  don't  know  what  a  thing 
a  small  country  village  like  this  is,  for  gossip 
and  slanderous  tongues.  I  couldn't  let  you 
injure  yourself  so,  don't  you  see?" 

"It  wouldn't  be  proper?"  she  inquired, 
faintly. 

"  No,  Minnie;  no,  it  wouldn't  —  at  all. 
Don't  you  see  it?" 

She  got  to  her  feet,  full  as  pale  as  he  now. 

"All  right,"  she  said,  and  after  a  few  me 
chanical  steps,  paused  a  moment,  looking 
down,  biting  her  finger — lost  in  thought,  or 
waiting  for  something  to  happen,  for  him 
to  say  something  further. 

He  could  not  speak — he  could  not  make 
himself  speak. 

"All  right,"  she  said  again,  very  distinct 
ly,  and  turned  to  go  without  another  word. 

"Minnie!  Minnie!"  he  faltered,  and  had 
instinctively  cast  himself  after  her.  His 
outstretched  hand  almost  touched  her  pink 
draperies.  She  turned  on  him  fiercely,  whisk 
ing  herself  out  of  reach.  He  was  confront- 

94 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

ed  for  a  second  by  a  little  angry  street-boy 
face,  but  with  the  gathered  experience  and 
woe  of  half  a  race  in  the  eyes.  "  Let  me 
alone  !  Don't  dare  to  touch  me  !  Nathaniel 
Fraisier,  I  hate  you  !" 

She  began  desperately  to  run.  He  saw 
her  clutch  her  poor  little  ruined  head,  and 
heard  her  cry  out,  breaking  into  sobs:  "  Oh, 
my  hair!  Oh,  my  hair!" 

He  dropped  in  the  grass,  face  downward, 
and  pressed  his  hands  over  his  ears,  trem 
bling.  It  all  seemed  so  strange,  so  out  of 
proportion. 

In  the  late  afternoon  of  that  same  hot 
day  the  crabbed  little  bell  on  Madame  Fini- 
bald's  door  snapped  to  let  in  a  tired,  dusty 
youth,  whose  dejected  face  was  so  flushed, 
one's  thought  at  sight  of  him  turned  at  once 
on  sunstroke.  He  leaned  wearily  over  the 
counter  and  asked  a  few  questions,  at  which 
madame's  liver  seemed  so  shaken  she  could 
not  keep  a  hold  on  her  good  manners.  At 
the  height  of  her  voice  she  began  berating 
all  the  world,  and  one  absent  person.  Fraisier 
tried  to  calm  her,  with  vague,  soothing  mo- 
95 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

tions  of  his  hands  patting  down  the  air. 
When  she  subsided  enough  for  him  to  be 
heard,  he  pointed  to  a  long  tail  of  shining 
hair  in  the  window,  and  spoke  again,  grow 
ing  redder,  if  possible,  than  before — so  red 
that  his  eyes  watered,  and  he  had  to  shade 
them  a  moment,  leaning  his  elbows  on  the 
counter.  She  unhitched  the  hair,  shaking  it 
brutally.  He  put  out  his  hands  in  remon 
strance.  She  flung  it  down  before  him  with 
a  forbidding  proposition  and  a  deep  snort  of 
malice.  Meekly  he  emptied  his  purse  on 
the  counter,  unfolding  the  bills,  spreading 
out  the  silver  and  lucky  pieces  to  count,  re 
serving  only  for  himself  a  crumpled  ticket. 

She  watched  him  with  gleeful,  avaricious 
eyes.  After  computation,  he  rose  without 
breath  of  argument  and  went  down  the 
street  to  pawn  his  watch  and  studs  and 
cigarette-case,  returning  solvent. 

He  left  with  a  rather  unsightly  parcel  in 
his  hand  ;  the  cover  was  burst  in  more  than 
one  place.  Madame  Finibald  had  not  been 
so  particular  as  she  sometimes  was  in  the 
selection  of  her  wrapping-paper.  He  had  no 
96 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

overcoat  and  no  pocket  large  enough  to  put 
his  prize  in  ;  he  was  forced  to  hold  it,  con 
scious  how  it  was  heavy  and  soft  and  its 
contents  gleamed  through  the  holes. 

He  got  home  at  dark,  reporting  to  his 
landlady  with  his  back  to  the  light.  He 
wanted  nothing  to  eat :  there  were  lamps 
and  voices  in  the  dining-room.  He  could 
not  go  to  bed,  worn  out  as  he  was :  on  the 
porch  below  his  window  was  singing  and 
picking  of  strings. 

He  went  forth  into  the  fields.  At  last, 
beyond  all  sounds  but  the  summer's  own, 
he  sank  on  the  grass.  He  did  not  look  up 
once  at  the  stars,  but  lay  sprawling  with  his 
forehead  on  his  crossed  arms,  and  let  his 
heart  torture  itself  at  its  own  good  leisure. 
He  drank  deeper  and  deeper  of  its  dark 
bitterness,  forcing  himself  recklessly  to  it, 
reaching  a  sort  of  desperate  drunkenness. 
It  seemed  to  his  inexperience  there  could 
be  nothing  worse  at  any  time  in  this  life 
to  taste. 

He  woke  long  hours  afterwards,  wonder 
ing  a  little  at  first,  feeling  somewhat  stiff. 

G  97 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

The  air  was  warm  and  still,  tremulous  with 
crickets — thrilled  through  with  the  shaken 
baubles  of  the  summer's  myriad  little  jest 
ers.  In  his  sleep  he  had  rolled  over;  his 
face  was  to  heaven.  The  sky  was  faint  with 
starlight ;  the  Milky  Way  was  a  road  of  dia 
mond  sand;  the  great  constellations  had 
hung  themselves  with  solemn  jewels ;  down 
near  the  rim  of  the  world  watched  far-spaced 
large  earnest  beacon-lights  —  but  above,  the 
tiniest  irresponsible  stars  twinkled  in  and  out, 
like  shining  ants  in  ant-hills.  He  looked, 
almost  wondering  why  his  eyes  felt  so  queer 
— sore  besides  heavy ;  why  his  breast  felt  so 
heavy.  He  rose  sitting ;  he  was  on  a  hillock. 
Like  an  opaque  reproduction  of  the  trans 
parent,  lightsome  sky  looked  the  ground 
about  him,  which  the  scythe  had  this  sea 
son  respected ;  it  was  dark  dotted  with 
daisies.  He  rubbed  his  aching  head  a  lit 
tle,  then  lay  back  again,  the  grass  shooting 
coolly  up  along  his  cheeks.  After  the  sound, 
dreamless  sleep  of  utter  exhaustion  from 
which  he  had  waked,  because  he  had  drained 
it  to  satisfaction,  his  head  was  numbed,  but, 
98 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

the  little  it  worked,  clear  in  its  working ;  his 
heart  was  sore,  but  quieted.  Something  had 
changed  ;  all  wore  another  aspect ;  all  seem 
ed  farther  removed.  Hours  had  gone  by  al 
ready,  a  month  would  go  —  a  year — fifteen 
years.  This  would  be  lived  out  of  memory. 
If  it  is  realized  that  a  thing  must  cease,  has 
it  not  begun  to  die  already?  At  the  first 
one  must  be  patient,  and  take  suffering  as 
a  matter  of  course.  He  stretched  his  limbs 
wearily,  not  entirely  deceived  by  himself, 
nor  unaware  of  depths  of  heartache  under 
this  film  of  philosophy  that  had  scummed 
them  over  in  sleep.  He  drew  his  hot  palms 
over  the  grass ;  his  hand  came  upon  the 
parcel  that  he  had  not  dared  to  leave  behind 
nor  to  open,  that  he  never  would  have  the 
strength  to  open  —  and  his  philosophy  was 
severely  shaken.  His  heart  was  near  burst 
ing  out  afresh ;  he  laid  his  face  on  the 
wretched,  soft,  dead  little  bundle,  and  ago 
nized. 

Then  he  revolted  against  this  suffering 
that  seemed  to  him  undeserved,  dispropor 
tionate.  He  was  not  a  bad  fellow;  looking 

99 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

into  his  heart,  he  could  declare  truthfully 
that  it  was  not  in  him  to  willingly  harm  any 
thing — give  any  one  pain.  Why  should  he 
feel  so  endlessly  mean,  so  endlessly  misera 
ble  ?  He  appealed  to  Minnie,  his  reasonable 
Minnie  of  old,  against  this  state  of  things. 
He  defended  himself  to  her;  she  defended 
him  to  himself.  When  all  was  said,  he  had 
at  no  time  done  anything  to  blame,  had  that 
day  said  nothing  that  was  not  wise  and  for 
the  best,  that  he  would  not  in  like  case  be 
forced  to  say  over  again.  He  had  been 
taken  unawares ;  he  had  not  expressed  him 
self  with  tact  —  he  had  been  fatally  slow. 
The  fact  remained  that  the  girl  could  not 
have  stayed  by  him,  setting  the  whole  coun 
try-side  agog.  But  if  his  heart  still  refused 
to  be  at  peace  about  this  matter,  let  it  be 
assured  he  meant  to  seek  till  he  found  the 
girl ;  it  must  be  easy  enough  to  find  her, 
though  he  had  failed  that  day.  Alas !  poor 
little  forlorn  head,  shorn  of  its  great  gleam 
ing  beauty — poor  little  discrowned  head,  at 
this  hour  full  of  what  thoughts,  God  knew ! 
He  would  make  all  things  right  to  her ;  he 

100 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

was  extravagantly  ready  to  pay  any  price  ; 
he  was  lavish  of  his  future,  free  of  all  the 
gods  gave  him  to  give.  At  the  same  time 
that  he  made  these  protestations  to  himself 
and  to  her,  and  he  was  sincere  in  making 
them,  he  knew  that  Minnie  would  never 
look  at  him  again  —  he  knew  that  she  had 
understood  how  he  was  changed  with  the 
change  in  her ;  it  was  beyond  his  governing, 
but  she  must  be  forgiven  for  not  forgiving 
it.  And  looking  into  his  man's  heart,  he 
wondered  at  the  mystery  of  it. 

In  that  hour  of  being  honest,  after  revolt 
ing  at  it,  reasoning  about  it,  trying  to  sophis 
ticate  it  away,  he  came  back  always  to  a 
hopeless  contemplation  of  it  as  a  simple  fact, 
not  to  be  done  away  with.  In  the  face  of  it 
he  might  clear  himself  of  all  blame,  perhaps, 
but  he  remained  humiliated  and  full  of  a 
vague  pity.  As  he  lay  in  the  grass  so, 
plucking  heedlessly  in  the  dark  at  the  lit 
tle  tufts,  emptied  of  all  pride  under  the 
lofty  stars,  a  dreamy  mood  followed  upon 
what  degree  of  success  he  had  in  suppress 
ing  feelings  he  was  determined  not  to  en- 

101 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

dure,  so  did  they  hurt !  His  thoughts  in 
search  of  soothing  travelled  back  to  days 
before  last  spring,  when  he  could  hardly 
have  conceived  what  he  had  this  night  been 
suffering.  Peaceful  period,  but  without  great 
charm,  he  decided,  loyal  to  his  altered  taste. 
He  thought  of  the  past  spring,  the  soft 
awakening  all  without  and  within  a  man — 
the  tender,  vast  burgeoning,  fluttering,  shim 
mering,  outreaching!  He  judged  it  sadly 
from  a  midsummer  night.  Not  all  were 
flowers  that  put  forth  in  that  mad  amenity 
of  nature ;  no,  not  all  flowers. 

And  in  connection  with  all  that  fresh 
ness  and  fragrance  and  beauty  of  spring, 
he  thought  unavoidably  of  what  had  seem 
ed  to  his  new- quickened  heart  its  very  ex 
pression,  its  chiefest  adornment — the  gentle 
order  he  loved  in  so  general  and  devoted  a 
way.  His  conjuring  head  filled  with  charm 
ing  phantoms,  pathetic  to  his  sense  at  this 
juncture ;  they  passed,  exquisite  pageant, 
leaving  as  if  a  perfume  of  themselves  through 
the  halls  of  his  mind,  not  one  little  grace, 
one  foolish  trick,  one  dainty  manner  of  be- 

102 


THE    PASSING    OF    SPRING 

ing,  lost  on  his  worshipping  sensibility :  sil 
ver  laughter — odors  of  violets — sunny  loose 
hairs  and  white  hand  tucking  them  behind 
the  ear — pretty  feet  tiptoeing  across  the  street 
in  bad  weather — pouted  lips  cooing  to  a  baby, 
or  quaintly  attempting  its  own  language  to  a 
bird — languid  attitudes — belts  of  a  span — ca 
prices — teasing  humors — tenderness — pity  for 
small  creatures — long  lashes  blinking  a  tear — 
queenly  bearing — rods  of  lily  held  over  bow 
ing  heads  with  such  assurance  of  power  as 
never  a  sceptre  —  aye,  power  greater  than 
any  emperor's,  founded,  dear  God — upon 
what?  at  the  mercy  —  of  what?  And  he 
yearned  and  grieved  over  them,  poor  youth, 
as  if  he  had  been  their  maker. 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 


ON  his  way  down  -  stairs  Prospero  came 
upon  the  padrona  di  casa. 

She  stood  at  the  door  of  the  first  floor, 
which  he  had  supposed  untenanted,  the  win 
dows  on  the  street  being  always  dark.  She 
looked  pleased,  anxious,  and  full  of  business. 

"  Just  step  in  for  a  moment,  signorino," 
she  said,  "and  tell  me  what  it  seems  to 
you." 

The  young  man  followed  her.  The  win 
dows  of  the  apartment  were  wide  open — 
most  likely  to  let  in  the  heat,  for  to  lean 
forth  beyond  the  chill  boundary  of  the 
stone  walls  was  like  dipping  into  a  warm 
bath.  The  long,  old,  neatly  darned  lace 
curtains  waved  gently  in  the  April  air. 
The  stone  floors  had  been  sprinkled ;  a 
104 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

pleasant  freshness  arose  from  them.  Every 
thing  had  an  air  of  having  just  been  gone 
over  .with  a  damp  dust  -  cloth ;  everything 
that  could  be  furbished  shone  to  the  utmost 
of  its  capacity. 

The  little  woman  led  Prospero  into  the 
large  sa/a,  from  which,  through  several  open 
doors,  one  got  glimpses  of  other  airy  cham 
bers.  The  great  height  of  the  ceiling  —  in 
creased  to  illusion  by  the  cunning  of  the 
fresco,  which  professed  to  open  into  the  sky 
itself,  and  show  a  flight  of  rosy  cupids  tum 
bling  among  the  clouds  —  had  the  effect  of 
dwarfing  the  furniture,  even  the  gigantic 
vases  under  their  shining  bells.  The  seats 
were  placed  about  in  social  groups;  in  the 
embrasure  of  the  balcony  window  stood  a 
small  table  supporting  a  coral-colored  coffee 
service,  lately  placed  between  two  low  chairs, 
with  a  view  to  spreading  about  suggestions 
of  cosiness — the  joys  of  intimate  life. 

"  I  see  that  you  are  expecting  a  tenant," 
said  Prospero. 

"  So  it  is  indeed ;  a  great  lady  —  a  for 
eigner,"  replied  the  padrona,  under  her 
105 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

breath.  "Just  see,  signorino,  what  you 
make  of  this  name."  While  she  felt  in  her 
pocket  she  went  on :  "  It  is  Dottor  Segati 
sends  her  to  me.  Oh,  he  has  sent  me 
families  before  when  there  was  a  patient 
among  them ;  and  this  apartment  has  always 
given  satisfaction;  that  I  can  say  with  my 
hand  upon  my  conscience.  There — can  you 
read  it  ?  I  can  tell  the  letters,  but  I  can't 
make  the  sound.  One  ought  to  have  an 
other  tongue  on  purpose  for  these  foreign 
names." 

Prospero  studied  a  second,  then  pro 
nounced,  clearly,  "Grafin  Paula  von  Schat- 
tenort." 

"  Grafin  means  Countess,"  said  the  land 
lady.  "The  doctor  told  me  that  she  is  a 
Countess ;  but  whether  Danish  or  Swedish 
or  Hollandish  I  don't  remember.  For  me 
all  those  countries  are  the  same.  Schatte- 
nort,  you  call  it  ?  What  would  that  be  in 
Italian?" 

Prospero  laughed.  "  It  stays  as  it  is,  dear 
lady.  Is  this  Countess  young,  do  you  know  ?" 
he  went  on,  looking  again  at  the  name  on 

106 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

the  paper  he  still  held.  "  Is  she  coming  here 
for  her  health?" 

"  I  don't  know  anything  beyond  the  fact 
that  the  doctor  engages  the  rooms  for  her, 
and  I  can  rely  upon  him.  Oh,  he  has  sent 
me  families  before,  you  know,  who  have  al 
ways  been  perfectly  satisfied  with  me,  and  I 
with  them.  You  can  see  yourself  that  the 
quarters  are  such  that  even  a  Countess 
might  find  herself  well  in  them — " 

"Yes,  truly,"  replied  Prospero,  agreeably. 
"  She  would  be  hard  to  please  if  she  were 
not  content.  Well,  if  you  allow  me  now,  I 
go.  Have  you  perhaps  a  commission  of  any 
sort  for  me  ?  I  shall  do  myself  a  pleasure  in 
serving  you." 

"  Too  good  —  much  too  good.  If  you 
would  just  say  the  name  over — " 

"  Von  Schattenort." 

"  What  it  is  to  have  a  memory !  What 
a  thing  is  education!  Not  but  that  also  I 
can  make  myself  understood  in  the  French 
tongue.  Schattenort — Schattenort.  I  should 
not  like  to  scomparire,  you  will  understand,  at 
the  very  first  meeting.  But  if  I  forget,  I  will 
107 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

simply  say  Signora  Contessa.  Only  one  likes 
to  be  able  to  tell  friends  whom  one  has  got 
in  the  house." 

Prospero,  late  already,  was  hurrying  down 
the  stairs,  his  music  under  his  arm  ;  at  the 
foot  he  was  forced  to  stop.  He  took  off  his 
hat,  and  leaned  against  the  wall  to  let  the 
ladies  pass. 

The  gray  -  haired  gentleman  talking  un 
practised  French  he  knew  to  be  Dottor 
Segati.  He  fixed  upon  Paula  von  Schatte- 
nort  without  a  second's  hesitation  ;  of  the 
two  ladies,  only  the  one  in  the  hat  and 
feather  could,  in  his  conception  of  possibil 
ity,  be  she.  He  was  half  -  conscious  as  she 
passed  him  on  her  upward  way  of  a  faint 
pang  of  disappointment.  The  name  had 
suggested  to  his  imagination  something  tall 
and  frail,  delicate  yet  imposing,  exceedingly, 
luminously  blond,  with  eyes  of  a  corn-flower 
blue.  The  magic  of  the  name  was  defeated. 

He  bethought  him  how  late  he  would  be, 
and  without  turning  his  head  for  a  second 
look,  or  giving  another  thought  to  the  ar 
rivals,  slipped  past  the  two  maids,  who  stood 
108 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

in  the  doorway  talking  in  a  language  un 
known  to  him,  while  the  Countess's  man 
handed  them  bundles  from  the  carriages 
drawn  up  to  the  door. 

Paula,  on  entering  the  apartment,  let  her 
little  gloved  hands  drop  at  her  sides,  and 
looking  around  with  wide,  quick  eyes,  gave 
a  long  sigh  of  pleasure. 

"  Here  I  can  breathe — here  I  can  breathe 
indeed !"  she  said  to  her  companion,  in  their 
Northern  tongue ;  then  turning  to  the  doctor, 
she  assured  him  in  French  that  she  found  it 
charming,  as  she  had  found  everything  in 
Italy  —  that  she  thanked  him  for  his  good 
ness.  The  doctor  and  the  landlady  both 
watched  her  with  a  half  smile  and  slight 
ly  raised  eyebrows  as  she  walked  quickly 
through  the  rooms,  exclaiming  at  every 
window  with  delight  at  sight  of  the  fawn- 
colored,  warm  -  looking  river  flowing  below 
and  flashing  back  the  sunshine,  and  the  low 
hills  clothed  in  their  early  green. 

Her  companion  followed  her  with  an  un 
usual  solemn  dignity  of  manner,  intended 
to  counterbalance  Paula's  unaccustomed  vi- 
109 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

vacity,  and  give  the  people  of  the  house,  if 
possible,  an  adequate  impression  of  the  two 
as  a  whole. 

"  Oh,  look — look,  Cousin  Veronika !"  ex 
claimed  the  younger  woman  from  the  bal 
cony,  over  the  parapet  of  which  she  had 
been  leaning  venturously  far — "  look  at  that 
dear  old  bridge ;  it  is  the  Jeweller's  Bridge ; 
I  recognize  it.  N'est-ce  pas,  cher  docteur? 
Oh,  what  a  sky  !  But  have  you  any  patients 
at  all  in  this  city,  doctor?  Is  it  possible  to 
be  ill  here?  Do  persons  die?  Of  what?  I 
will  never  believe  it!" 

"  My  dear  lady,"  said  the  gray  doctor,  his 
kindly  face  lighting  as  if  with  the  reflection 
of  her  childish  excitement,  "  will  you  be  ad 
vised  by  me?  Will  you  sit  down  on  this 
commodious  divan  and  rest  a  little,  while 
you  take  what  the  signora  has  brought  for 
you — this  little  glass  of  our  white  vin  santo  f 
It  will  do  you  good.  You  must  be  tired, 
very  tired." 

"  Oh  no  !  no,  doctor !  It  is  like  magic.  I 
do  not  understand  it.  I  feel  like  another.  I 
shall  not  be  tired  here,  ever.  You  must 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

come  and  see  me  every  day  indeed,  but  not 
as  a  doctor — as  my  good,  good  friend.  Tell 
me,  is  it  still  standing,  the  house  where 
Dante  lived  ?  Have  you  a  book — I  mean, 
could  you  advise  me  a  book — in  which  there 
is  everything  of  the  story  about  him  and 
Beatrice?  It  must  be  sweet  to  think  of 
when  one  is  in  their  city." 

"  I  will  do  myself  the  pleasure  of  sending 
you  the  Vita  Nova,"  he  said ;  then,  solici 
tously,  "but  accommodate  yourself,  my  dear 
est  lady,  and  drink  this — " 

"  Vita  Nova  ?  Does  that  mean  new  life  ? 
New  life  !"  she  said,  as  if  to  herself,  sudden 
ly  half  stretching  her  arms  up  in  the  air  and 
smiling  in  indeterminate  happiness  at  the 
ceiling,  whereon  the  shining  river  cast  a  rest 
less,  quivering  brightness.  "  Yes,  send  it 
me ;  I  want  to  read  it.  I  will  drink  this  to 
please  you,  signer,  but  not  that  I  am  tired. 
Here  is  to  New  Life  !" 

She    touched    her   glass   to    the    doctor's 

and  Veronika's,  and  emptied  it  at  an  eager 

draught.     Veronika  watched  her  in  surprised 

displeasure,  sipping  her  own  wine  staidly  and 

in 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

decorously.  It  warmed  her  very  heart  to 
see  Paula  merry,  only  she  thought  it  unbe 
coming  to  behave  in  the  presence  of  stran 
gers  as  if  one  were  a  person  of  no  importance. 

Her  good -humor  returned  as  soon  as  the 
doctor  and  the  padrona  had  excused  them 
selves.  When  they  were  alone  she  seized 
Paula  unceremoniously  by  the  wrists  and 
forced  her  back  into  an  arm-chair;  then  lift 
ed  her  feet,  and  with  much  decision  placed 
them  upon  a  footstool.  "  Now  you  don't 
stir,"  she  said,  shaking  her  finger  in  Paula's 
face. 

"  But,  cousin,  it  is  so  different,"  pleaded 
Paula.  "  I  feel  no  more  as  I  do  at  home, 
than  this  mild,  heavenly  air  is  like  our 
joyless  atmosphere.  Are  your  eyes  open, 
Cousin  Veronika  ?  Do  you  perceive  the 
things  about  you — or  is  it  all  a  dream  of  my 
own  ?  It  seemed  to  me  as  we  drove  from 
the  station  that  we  had  arrived  in  an  en 
chanted  place." 

"  It's  just  a  city,"  murmured  Veronika. 

"  Those  sombre  palaces  we  passed,  how 
they  make  the  spring-time  in  the  sky  above 

112 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

them  more  lightsome,  more  warm!  And 
those  flowers  banked  up  for  sale  against 
that  black  stone  wall,  could  you  see  what 
they  were?  They  seemed  to  me  all  new 
sorts — marvellous.  Have  you  noticed  how 
happy  every  one  looks  in  Italy,  even  the 
beggars  sitting  in  the  sun  ?  And  what  beau 
tiful  faces  one  sees — " 

She  stopped  and  mused,  gazing  ahead  in 
silence  for  a  few  moments ;  then  went  on 
aloud  ;  "  Yes — beautiful  faces,  like  pictures. 
Did  you  see  the  young  man  whom  we  met 
on  the  stairs?  Not?  Veronika,  for  what 
have  you  eyes?  The  light  just  there  was  a 
little  dim,  but  I  saw  him  perfectly.  I  passed 
him  slowly  on  purpose — he  leaned  against 
the  wall  to  let  us  go  by  him.  He  had  wavy 
hair,  longer  than  is  usual,  falling  over  his 
forehead,  and  soft  brown  eyes  like  an  ani 
mal's.  I  am  sure  one  sees  such  eyes  only  in 
Italy,  half  asleep,  yet  deeply  intelligent,  that 
when  you  look  in  them  you  think  a  thousand 
things — " 

"You  certainly  took  in  a  great  deal  at  a 
glance,"  said  Veronika. 
H  113 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

"  Oh,  I  could  tell  you  much  else,"  laugh 
ed  Paula ;  "  beside  that  he  wore  a  pink  in 
his  button-hole  and  carried  a  roll  of  music." 

"  Veronika,"  she  said,  after  a  pause,  jump 
ing  up  from  her  chair  and  walking  about  ex 
citedly  as  before,  "we  must  be  very  happy 
here.  We  must  begin  at  once.  Think  how 
much  time  we  have  lost  —  all  our  years  up 
to  this  day.  Now  we  must  really  enjoy 
ourselves,  live — love  !"  she  added,  recklessly, 
with  light  in  her  eyes. 

Veronika,  kneeling  over  an  open  satchel, 
paused  in  her  task  to  look  over  her  spec 
tacles  with  a  vaguely  shocked  air,  as  if 
something  immoral  had  been  said. 

"  This  seems  like  the  opening  chapter  in  a 
lovely  story-book  that  becomes  more  inter 
esting  with  every  page,"  said  Paula,  drop 
ping  on  her  knees  and  crushing  her  cheek  to 
Veronika's  gray  hair,  with  an  expansiveness 
that  took  this  lady  aback.  "  I  have  the  hap 
piest  presentiments!  Ah,  Veronika,  there 
was  once  a  woman  who  said  that  happiness 
is  to  be  young,  beloved,  and  in  Italy !" 

"  Unless  you  keep  quiet  and  rest,"  said 
114 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

Veronika,  "  you  will  be  ill,  and  that  is  as  far 
as  you  will  get — " 

Paula  stared  a  second  in  wonder  at  Veron- 
ika's  impatience  ;  then  she  reflected  that  her 
cousin  was  old  and  could  not  understand. 
"Poor  Veronika!"  she  thought,  with  a  sym 
pathetic  shake  of  the  head,  "  she  can  never 
have  but  Italy!" 

Like  a  good  child,  she  went  back  to  her 
chair,  but  before  settling  down  in  it  she 
pushed  it  to  the  balcony  window ;  then  she 
sat  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  San  Miniato. 

Dr.  Segati  came  the  next  day,  early.  He 
found  Paula  pale  and  infinitely  tired,  but 
wearing  a  contented  face.  She  sat  in  the 
balcony  window,  closed  to-day,  with  a  cush 
ion  behind  her  shoulders  ;  flowers  stood  in 
the  water  near  her  —  a  delight  to  the  eyes, 
wonderful  wind-flowers,  white  and  pink,  pur 
ple,  scarlet,  pale  violet.  She  rose  to  meet 
the  doctor,  and  gave  him  the  childish  smile 
that  had  won  his  heart  to  her  the  day  be 
fore. 

She  pointed  to  the  book  she  held.  "  It 
came  last  night.  I  thank  you.  I  am  trying 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

to  read  it,  you  see.  But  I  do  not  know 
enough.  I  can  make  only  just  a  little  sense 
here  and  there,  where  it  resembles  French. 
Oh,  I  like  it  all  the  same — very  much.  The 
title  is  beautiful — Vita  Nova!" 

"Tell  her  she  must  not  read,  doctor,"  said 
Veronika.  "  It  is  bad  for  her.  She  has  been 
tiring  herself  over  the  book." 

The  doctor  listened  politely,  an  intelligent 
eye  fixed  on  Veronika's,  and  made  no  ob 
jection  to  what  she  said.  She  had  always 
after  that  half  an  idea  that  he  understood  her. 

"  I  had  the  cook  sent  in,"  said  Paula,  with 
a  brightening  face.  "  The  native  cook  whom 
the  padrona  was  so  good  as  to  engage  for 
me.  I  asked  her  about  some  passages.  She 
could  read  them  easily — how  I  envied  her ! 
— but  she  could  not  make  them  clear  to  me, 
though  she  seemed  to  do  her  best." 

The  doctor  laughed  amusedly,  and  took  a 
seat  beside  her.  "  What  an  eager  little  lady  ! 
Certainly  that  is  the  way  to  learn.  But  why 
this  hurry  ?  The  great  object  first  is  to  be 
come  robust.  Oh,  this  air  will  do  it !  I  have 
no  fear.  And  how  did  you  sleep?" 

116 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

Paula  blushed  as  if  caught  in  fault.  "  I 
don't  know  why  it  should  be  I  lay  awake  so 
much.  My  old  doctor  at  home  (I  bless  him 
for  his  inspiration  of  sending  me  here !)  has 
written  you  about  me,  I  suppose.  I  dare 
say  you  know  I  cough  sometimes  in  the 
night.  Doctor,"  she  asked,  abruptly,  "  who 
lives  above  us?" 

He  looked  interrogatively  at  the  ceiling, 
and  shook  his  head. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  you  do  not  happen 
to  know.  It  is  a  great  musician,  and  I  feel 
much  gratitude  towards  him.  I  was  becom 
ing  nervous  with  lying  awake — I  was  on 
the  point  of  calling  my  poor  cousin — when 
some  one  began  playing  on  the  piano  in 
the  room  above  me.  Sweetly,  very  sweet 
ly.  I  could  hear  it  just  distinctly  enough.  It 
was  a  joy.  I  lay  awake,  but  it  soothed  me 
more  than  sleep." 

"  I  seem  to  remember  that  there  is  a 
music -master  living  in  the  house,"  said  the 
doctor.  "  I  will  beg  i\\Q  padrona  to  speak  to 
him.  He  should  not  play  in  the  night." 

"  Not  at  all,"  exclaimed  Paula,  with  a 
117 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

warmth  he  could  not  expect.  "  Please,  I 
want  him  to  play.  I  shall  be  grieved  if  you 
say  anything  to  prevent  him.  It  does  not 
keep  me  awake.  If  I  were  sleepy  I  could  not 
hear  it." 

The  doctor  prolonged  his  visit  far  into  the 
forenoon.  At  the  first  movement  he  made 
to  go,  Paula  said,  pleadingly :  "  Oh,  not  yet. 
I  entertain  myself  so  willingly  with  you !" 
And  he  stayed. 

He  was  interested,  in  the  woman  as  well 
as  in  the  case.  She  was  different  from  his 
other  aristocratic  patients.  She  was  of  a 
type  new  to  him ;  without  appearing  to,  he 
studied  her  face  as  she  spoke,  and  from  it, 
and  from  frequent  allusions  she  dropped,  he 
built  up  a  theory  of  her  past. 

He  divined  that  she  was  older  than  she 
looked.  It  was,  he  resolved,  the  childlike 
glance  and  smile,  the  voice  as  of  shyness 
overcome,  her  artlessness,  her  continually 
outcropping  ignorance  of  the  world,  her 
immature  mind  perhaps,  that  gave  the  im 
pression  of  youthfulness  one  at  first  re 
ceived  from  her.  If  one  looked  well,  she 

118 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

had  even  already  a  sad  little  beginning  of 
faded  appearance.  Her  face  was  a  trifle 
broad,  and  the  high  cheek-bones  were  com 
mencing  slightly  to  accuse  themselves,  as 
they  say  in  French.  The  charm  of  her 
countenance,  to  such  as  felt  it,  lay  in  her 
eyes:  they  were  unsophisticated,  hopeful, 
interested,  idealizing  eyes.  Vanity,  it  must 
be  pityingly  related,  had  taught  her  nothing. 
Her  blond  hair,  dull  and  fine  and  soft  —  a 
large  treasure  that  would  have  made  the 
boast  of  many  another  woman — was  drawn 
away  rigorously  from  her  forehead,  braided, 
and  wound  compactly  against  the  back  of 
her  head,  like  a  school-girl's. 

He  noticed  with  amused  wonder  how  un 
pretending — nay,  provincial,  homely,  for  per 
sons  of  rank  and  fortune  —  was  the  mise  of 
the  two  women.  Fashion  by  them  was  mis 
construed,  or  else  despised.  He  did  not  in 
cline  to  the  latter  interpretation  of  their 
plainness ;  he  rather  laid  to  a  touching  in 
nocence  of  the  mode's  dictates  Mamsell 
Veronika's  pelerine  and  the  black  lace  tabs 
on  the  sides  of  her  head ;  the  antiquated  cut 
119 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

of  Paula's  deep  violet  gown,  the  little  black 
silk  mitts  that  covered  her  pale  pretty  hands 
to  the  point  where  her  rings  began.  These 
were  numerous  rather  than  rich,  and  gave 
the  impression  of  being  heirlooms  —  things 
worn  for  a  memory:  brilliants  mounted  in 
darkening  silver,  enamels,  carnelians;  one 
showed  a  pale  gleam  of  human  hair. 

Paula  had  never  spoken  so  much  about 
herself  to  any  one  as  she  did  to  the  doctor. 
Her  loquacity  was  an  effect  of  her  unreason 
ing  instinct  that  in  this  new  place  everything 
was  good  to  her,  every  influence  favorable. 
She  let  herself  go  in  a  way  that  would  have 
seemed  out  of  her  nature  at  home. 

All  she  had  ever  read  in  the  long,  melan 
choly  winter  evenings  at  Schattenort,  of  po 
etry  or  romance,  came  back  to  her  mind  in 
essence,  drawn  to  the  surface  by  an  inex 
plicable  magic.  Her  conversation  in  this 
mental  excitement  teemed  with  allusions 
and  modest  flowers  of  speech  that  almost 
surprised  herself,  and  gave  her  a  strange  de 
light.  She  felt  as  she  were  some  one  she  had 
some  time  read  of. 

120 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

"Oh,  we  will  make  you  well,  quite  well, 
soon,"  said  the  doctor,  cheerily,  on  taking 
his  leave.  "  But  you  must  promise  to  be 
very  good,  very  prudent." 

He  gave  his  directions  with  a  light  air,  but 
as  he  turned  from  the  door  a  shadow  settled 
upon  his  kindly  old  face. 

In  his  breast-pocket  lay  folded  the  let 
ter  his  colleague,  Paula's  former  doctor,  had 
written  him.  The  consciousness  of  what 
was  said  in  it  gave  rise  in  his  heart  fb  a  ten 
der,  grateful  thought  of  his  own  children — 
grown-up  daughters,  fair  and  healthy,  hap 
pily  established  in  life. 

Paula  had  hoped  to  go  for  a  drive  that 
day,  but  a  light  rain  fell,  and  she  could  only 
watch  the  turbid  stream  outside  through 
the  glistening  window-pane.  She  sat  with 
her  forehead  leaning  against  it,  her  book  in 
her  lap.  Now  and  then  she  opened  this  and 
let  her  eyes  wander  over  the  lines,  without 
trying  to  understand,  just  for  a  pleasure  she 
found  in  its  being  Italian  too. 

She  had  prevailed  upon  Veronika  to  go 
out  for  a  walk,  so  that  she  might  amuse 

121 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

her  with  an  account  of  what  there  was  to 
see. 

Towards  evening  the  clouds  broke.  She 
saw  the  red  reflection  of  the  sunset  on  the 
river.  Tempted,  she  opened  the  balcony 
door;  a  smell  of  damp  stone  came  gratefully 
to  her  nostrils.  She  slipped  out  and  leaned 
over  the  cool  balusters,  and  looked  up  and 
down  the  empty  gleaming  street.  The  hills 
were  as  if  washed  with  wine ;  the  air  was 
sparkling.  She  heard  a  footstep  ;  she  hoped 
it  might  be  Veronika's.  She  looked.  But 
it  was  not  a  woman.  She  recognized  the 
young  man  who  had  been  on  the  stairs 
when  she  arrived.  He  did  not  look  up. 
She  leaned  over  to  see  him  disappear  in  the 
portone  below.  Then,  swiftly,  she  came  in 
doors  and  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 
She  listened  intently.  In  a  few  moments  she 
thought  to  hear,  faintly,  faintly,  footsteps  in 
the  room  above.  She  clasped  her  hands  si 
lently,  saying  to  herself  with  unaccountable 
excitement :  "  I  knew  it  already.  I  knew  it 
well." 

Late  in  the  night  again  she  heard  music. 

122 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

She  had  been  listening  for  it  a  long  time. 
Night  to  her  was  often  tediously  long.  Often 
she  spent  many  hours  staring  at  the  square 
of  paler  darkness,  star-bestrewn,  the  window 
made.  At  a  certain  pitch  of  nervousness, 
soon  reached  when  the  city  had  become  quiet 
and  the  stillness  of  the  bedroom  was  full  of 
mysterious  sounds,  she  always  thought  of  a 
dear  sister  she  'had  lost,  rehearsing  old  sad 
scenes  vivid  in  her  brain  as  if  they  had  been 
lived  through  but  yesterday.  Her  own  phys 
ical  discomfort  increased  as  she  thought  of 
that  other  girl's  long-drawn-out  suffering.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  already  she  could  not 
breathe;  her  body  was  damp  with  sweat  of 
fear.  "It  is  all  useless!"  she  groaned,  toss 
ing  wretchedly.  "  I  too  —  I  too  am  going 
that  way  !"  Then  she  prayed  diligently,  and 
looked  out  up  at  the  stars  with  a  return  of 
tranquillity,  hoping  steadfastly  in  a  beautiful 
world  beyond  them. 

But    on    the   night    in   question    she   lay 

patiently  and  happily  watchful.     And  late 

in  the  night  again  she  heard  music.      No 

very  definite  melody  was  played ;  it  was  as 

123 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

if  skilful  hands  were  dreamily  straying  over 
the  keys,  unravelling  a  little  tangled  skein 
of  musical  impression,  thinking  aloud.  The 
tune  wandered  and  flitted  like  a  butterfly 
over  a  summer  garden.  Paula's  thought 
climbed  upward  and  entered  the  musician's 
chamber.  She  saw  him  clearly,  leaning  back, 
looking  upward,  swaying  slightly.  She  took 
joy  in  the  symmetry  of  his  dark  Italian  face. 
She  pictured  him  intensely,  and  held  her 
breath  gazing.  Then  she  tried  to  build  up 
his  surroundings ;  she  adorned  his  room  po 
etically. 

Satisfied  at  last,  her  imagination  folded 
its  wings  and  dropped  back  into  its  nest. 
She  merely  listened,  and  let  herself  be  com 
forted  ;  accepted  passively  what  dreams  the 
music  imposed.  It  was  as  if  she  and  an 
other  were  walking  in  a  moonless  starry 
night  along  a  quiet  village  road;  and  the 
dewy  flowers  in  the  stilly  little  gardens 
skirting  the  way  were  giving  forth  perfume 
in  the  warm  dark.  Then  it  was  as  if  an 
other  and  she  were  in  a  boat  with  droop 
ing  sail,  becalmed,  drifting  slowly.  The 
124 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

moon  was  behind  a  great  cloud  wonderfully 
silvered  on  the  ravelled  edges ;  the  sea  at 
the  horizon  was  a  streak  of  pure  light.  The 
other  had  laid  her  on  velvet  cushions  and 
covered  her  with  a  cloak,  was  playing  and 
singing  softly  to  her.  They  hoped  the  wind 
would  not  rise.  Drifting — drifting.  And  she 
slept. 

In  the  gayest  mood  next  day  she  showed 
the  doctor  a  little  package  of  letters  to  dif 
ferent  persons  in  the  city,  but  said  that 
she  was  not  ready  yet  to  let  these  distin 
guished  ones  know  of  her  arrival ;  she  must 
first  attend  to  various  important  things.  He 
derived  from  her  words  that  she  wished  to 
make  her  establishment  more  elegant,  and 
became  gruff  and  severe  when  she  asked 
him  to  procure  for  her  the  address  of  the 
most  fashionable  mantua  -  maker.  She  al 
most  cried  when  he  forbade  the  expense  of 
any  precious  energy  on  worldly  vanities,  but 
was  half  consoled  by  his  promise  soon  to 
make  her  well  enough  to  employ  a  master 
in  the  art  of  playing  the  guitar. 

He  prescribed  a  daily  drive  in  the  sun- 
125 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

niest  hour.  Paula  came  back  from  her  first 
excursion  with  flushed  cheeks.  Veronika 
grumbled :  "  I  will  tell  the  doctor,  and  he 
will  forbid  your  going  out  at  all.  It  is  not 
to  kneel  in  damp  churches  will  help  you. 
You  might  as  well  take  up  your  abode  in 
the  cellar." 

"  Don't  scold  me,"  said  Paula,  gently.  "  I 
had  to  thank  God." 

Towards  sunset  she  seated  herself  on  the 
balcony  wrapped  in  fleecy  white,  and  look 
ed  down  the  street  towards  the  Jeweller's 
Bridge.  She  saw  Prospero  come.  But  he 
did  not  look  up.  That  night  again  she 
heard  him  play. 

Many  times  she  sat  on  the  balcony  and 
saw  Prospero  coming.  Sometimes  he  look 
ed  up,  but  oftener  he  passed  into  the  house 
unaware  of  a  Countess  gazing  after  him 
from  above. 

Some  nights  he  did  not  play  ;  those  were 
restless,  disappointed  nights  for  her. 

Once  or  twice  she  met  him  on  the  stairs  as 
she  was  going  to  her  carriage  ;  he  glanced  at 
her  with  an   unimpressed   eye,  then   looked 
126 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

elsewhere,  standing  against  the  wall,  hat  in 
hand. 

Occasionally  she  saw  him  in  the  street, 
but  he  seemed  never  to  see  her.  A  vague 
heartache  grew  out  of  those  occasions. 

The  Italian  spring  deepened  in  warmth 
and  color;  the  air  had  a  fragrance,  some 
days,  as  of  lilacs ;  other  days,  more  pene 
trating,  as  of  hyacinths.  The  little  hills  in 
the  midst  of  which  Florence  lies  took  on 
dewy  morning  hues  of  the  opal,  changing 
evening  tints  of  the  dark  dove's  neck.  The 
pure  noon  light  made  the  statues  in  the 
King's  Garden,  where  Paula  walked  some 
times,  look  dazzlingly  white  against  the 
sombre  walls  of  clipped  laurel.  The  open 
country  now  was  full  of  blossoming  fruit 
trees ;  Paula  often  begged  Veronika  to 
alight  from  the  carriage  and  gather  for 
her  the  flowers  she  saw  shining  in  the 
grass  —  primroses  and  violets,  tulips,  nar 
cissi,  fleurs-de-lis.  She  brought  home  im 
mense  nosegays,  which  she  spent  long  min 
utes  breathing;  this  perfume  of  Italy  went 
to  her  brain. 

127 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

At  sunset  once  a  red  flower  lay  by  chance 
on  the  rail  of  the  balcony,  just  where  a 
movement  of  her  arm  would  brush  it  off ;  it 
would  drop  in  the  street.  A  bold  thought 
crossed  her  mind.  But  that  evening  Pros- 
pero  did  not  come  at  the  usual  hour.  She 
sat  outside,  trembling  slightly  as  the  dusk 
closed  around  her  and  the  dew  fell;  then 
Veronika,  with  shrill  cries  of  surprise  and 
blame,  came  to  fetch  her  in.  She  felt  guilty 
and  ashamed,  and  did  not  protest.  She 
spent  the  evening  on  the  divan,  with  her 
face  to  the  wall,  crying  softly  with  a  vast 
invincible  melancholy,  a  sense  of  forlornness 
and  failure,  giving  no  explanation  of  her 
humor. 

She  was  kept  in-doors  for  many  days  after 
that.  Only  she  insisted  upon  being  folded 
in  a  fur  and  seated  on  the  balcony  at  a  cer 
tain  hour  every  afternoon.  The  beggar- 
woman  stationed  at  the  street  corner  with 
a  basket  on  her  knees  got  used  to  seeing 
the  sick  forestiera  appear,  who  always  threw 
her  a  bit  of  silver,  and  gave  her  a  faint  little 
smile. 

128 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

Veronika  suffered  from  Paula's  silence  and 
depression.  She  went  about  with  two  deep 
lines  constantly  between  her  updrawn  brows. 
Her  heart  misgave  her  ;  her  inability  to  com 
municate  with  the  doctor  and  those  around 
her  became  a  gnawing  despair.  She  formed 
a  habit,  which  never  left  her  after,  of  talking 
audibly  to  herself.  She  gave  up  the  effort  to 
hold  cheerful  conversation  with  Paula,  and 
simply  tried  to  preserve  in  her  presence  an 
unconcerned  attitude.  She  secretly  yearned 
to  be  at  home.  She  felt  an  unappeasable 
animosity  towards  this  Italy,  that  had  seem 
ed  to  do  her  Paula  so  much  good,  only  to 
make  her  worse.  She  began  to  hate  every 
thing  Italian. 

Paula  herself  sat  by  the  window  watching 
the  hills  opposite  with  an  absent  face.  Now 
and  then  she  rose  to  take  a  few  desultory 
steps  about  the  large  room,  touching  the 
things,  passing  her  hand  over  the  flowers, 
making  the  guitar-strings  give  forth  a  mur 
mur  as  she  brushed  them  ;  she  went  back  to 
her  chair  and  closed  her  eyes,  tired  out. 

Once  a  friend  was  walking  at  Prospero's 
i  129 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

side.  They  were  talking.  As  they  ap 
proached,  the  friend  looked  up,  and  evi 
dently  asked  a  question  of  Prospero,  who 
looked  up  too :  she  thought  his  lips  framed 
her  name.  Her  heart  leaped ;  she  drew 
back,  faint,  and  felt  foolish  at  feeling  such 
pleasure.  She  waited  more  eagerly  than 
usual  that  night  to  hear  him ;  it  seemed 
the  music  must  have  a  special  message  for 
her.  Silence  —  utter,  atrocious.  The  night 
seemed  unending. 

The  doctor  wondered  next  day  what  spring 
had  broken  within  her.  She  showed  so  little 
interest  in  anything ;  she  was  fretful  as  he 
had  never  seen  her  before.  He  scarcely 
knew  how  to  conduct  himself  to  avoid  irri 
tating  her.  At  a  loss,  he  picked  up  the  little 
tome  of  Vita  Nova,  that  always  lay  on  the  table 
at  her  side,  and  inquired  of  her  progress  in  it. 

"  Oh,  put  it  away !"  she  said,  tears  spring 
ing  to  her  eyes.  "  Put  it  away!  I  cannot 
suffer  it.  That  title  exasperates  me ;  it 
works  upon  my  nerves.  Doctor,  doctor,  I 
shall  never  be  well  again !"  and  she  poured 
forth  a  long  complaint. 
130 


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Iff 

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I^S 

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%'• 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

He  feigned  to  make  light  of  her  fears;  he 
comforted  her.  Casting  about  in  his  mind 
for  things  to  say  that  should  divert,  interest 
her  in  her  gray  mood,  he  found  this,  which 
brought  the  sudden  color  to  her  face : 

"  Did  you  not  once  ask  me  who  lived  in 
the  apartment  above  ?  I  know  now.  I  will 
not  take  the  credit  of  having  applied  myself 
to  discover  just  on  that  hint  of  curiosity  from 
you  ;  I  confess  hearing  it  by  chance.  Your 
neighbor  is  the  young  maestro  Prospero 

C ,  celebrated  in  his  way.  He  has 

written  an  opera,  to  be  produced  for  the  first 
time  precisely  to-night.  Those  who  know 
promise  great  things  for  it — " 

She  had  leaned  forward,  listening  thirstily. 
The  doctor  could  congratulate  himself. 

When  Veronika  went  to  the  door  with 
him,  he  turned  upon  her  suddenly,  and  ask 
ed,  almost  violently  :  "  Why  did  you  wait  so 
long?  Why  did  you  not  bring  her  to  this 
climate  before?" 

She  looked  at  him  in  a  puzzled  way,  and 
in  her  turn  said  something  he  could  not  un 
derstand. 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

He  appeared  for  a  moment  as  if  he  meant 
to  shake  her,  but  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
brusquely  left. 

Some  who  were  present  at  the  first  night 
of  "  Parisina  "  remember  well  how  when  the 
curtain  dropped  on  the  first  act  and  they 
looked  about  to  discover  whom  they  should 
salute,  their  attention  was  arrested  by  the 
strange  apparition  in  one  of  the  second-tier 
boxes.  There,  in  a  crimson  velvet  chair,  sat 
very  upright  an  unknown  lady  in  a  gown 
such  as  no  one  nowadays  wears — a  gown  of 
cloth  of  gold,  that  might  have  figured  at  a 
court  ball  perhaps  a  century  earlier.  An 
ermine  -  lined  mantle  half  covered  her  arms 
and  neck,  dainty  thin  and  white  as  wax,  and 
half  extinguished  the  gleam  of  her  heavy 
jewels.  A  wreath  of  roses  was  twined  in 
her  pale  hair,  that  might  have  made  one 
laugh  in  its  dtmodt  pretentiousness  but  that 
one  divined  the  lady  to  be  a  foreigner  from 
some  Northern  country,  where  perhaps  it  is 
still  customary  to  adorn  the  hair  with  a  gar 
land.  She  held  her  fan  like  a  sceptre,  her  fin 
gers  stiffly  closed  on  the  pearl  sticks.  A 
132 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

mass  of  roses  lay  in  her  lap.  She  turned  a 
colorless  face  upon  the  stage ;  her  eyes  were 
wide  and  glassy,  and  fixed  as  a  somnambulist's. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  box,  less  clear 
ly  defined  against  the  darkness,  sat  an  elder 
ly,  soberly  clad  lady,  whose  face  expressed  a 
degree  of  uneasiness,  misery,  and  fear  almost 
pitiful  —  if  not  comical  —  to  behold.  She 
made  no  pretence  of  interest  in  the  stage  or 
the  gleaming  galleries,  but  watched  her  gold 
en  -  haired  companion  with  an  unswerving, 
frightened  eye. 

No  one  knew  who  these  were,  though 
many  took  pains  to  discover. 

Through  the  second  act  the  lady  in  gold 
listened  breathlessly,  as  if  life  itself  were  sus 
pended.  It  seemed  to  her  that  the  soul  left 
her  body,  and  went  floating  up,  up,  on  the 
strains  of  the  music.  She  was  praying,  pray 
ing  with  all  her  strength,  for  the  success  of 
this  work,  that  the  people  might  feel  just 
as  she  felt  how  it  was  beautiful ! 

When  a  crash  of  applause  came  and  a  call 
for  the  composer,  it  seemed  but  an  answer  to 
her  prayer.     She  rose  to  her  feet,  radiant. 
133 


PAULA    I  N    ITALY 

Prospero  C came  to  the  foot  -  lights 

below,  looking  a  slight  thing,  the  acclaimed 
great  man,  in  his  close  black  evening  dress, 
and  bowed  his  thanks.  Then,  as  the  ap 
plause  continued,  he  lingered  a  moment, 
and  let  his  eye  pass  along  the  friendly 
faces  in  the  boxes,  a  grateful  emotion  ex 
pressed  in  his  smile. 

The  lady  in  gold  leaned  over  the  velvet 
parapet,  breathing  short,  tremulously  smil 
ing,  her  flowers  in  her  hands.  His  eye 
passed  her  unrecognizing.  She  wanted  to 
shout:  "It  is  I,  Paula!  Nothing  could 
keep  me  away !"  The  clamor  subsided. 
Panting,  she  leaned  back  in  the  shade. 

The  third  act  ended  in  triumph.  Again 
the  composer  was  called.  Paula  laughed 
and  cried  at  the  same  time,  clapping  her 
little  hands  like  mad,  forgetting  herself. 

Then,  when  it  was  all  over  and  she  sat  in 
the  dark  carriage  rolling  homeward,  she  felt 
a  chill  seizing  upon  her  very  heart ;  she  began 
to  shiver.  But  her  physical  condition  scarce 
ly  interested  her;  a  sense  of  the  sad  things  of 
life  weighed  heavily  upon  her :  the  vanity  of 
134 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

earthly  hopes,  the  evanescence  of  happy 
things,  the  inequality  in  the  measure  of  pain 
and  pleasure  to  God's  children,  the  fugitive- 
ness  of  illusions,  the  foolishness  of  dreams. 
She  thought  of  the  beggar  sitting  at  the  cor 
ner  in  sun  and  rain  through  years :  she  felt 
disgust  for  a  world  where  such  things  could 
be.  She  said,  "  It  is  a  good  thing  to  have 
done  with  it.  It  is  a  deliverance.  I  will 
not  give  it  one  regret ;  no,  not  one."  She 
felt  suddenly  that  she  did  not  love  Italy :  it 
had  betrayed  her.  "  It  is  you,  you  who  are 
to  blame,"  she  said,  full  of  helpless  resent 
ment,  shaking  a  pale  small  hand  vaguely 
from  the  window  out  at  the  balmy  moonlit 
world ;  "  you,  soft  air !  you,  flower  smell ! 
you,  velvety  firmament  with  the  many-col 
ored  stars !  I  was  a  simple  soul :  my  com 
mon  life  was  enough  for  me ;  you  sowed  in 
my  unguarded  heart  all  the  seeds  of  vain 
dreams,  and  fostered  them.  And  they  bear 
no  fruit ;  they  wither  on  their  shallow  roots 
— they  are  weeds  ! — But  I  will  not  curse  you, 
for  God  made  you  lovely." 

She  closed  her  eyes ;  her  thoughts  turned 
135 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

to  remote  Schattenort ;  she  wished  she  were 
there  again,  in  the  dull,  quiet,  big,  cold,  fa 
miliar  country  house  where  she  had  been 
born  and  bred.  A  mist  of  bitter  longing 
rose  in  her  eyes.  The  moon  was  shining 
clamorously,  obtrusively ;  it  cast  a  green 
light,  a  light  almost  warm,  on  the  pale 
pavement.  She  hated  its  fervent  beauty. 
"  Would  God  I  were  home  !"  she  sighed. 

Veronika,  mistaking  her  meaning,  said, 
"  You  are  almost  there." 

Paula  suffered  Veronika  and  her  maid  to 
put  her  to  bed.  She  seemed  not  to  notice 
them.  She  was  thinking — far  away.  Out  of 
habit  she  listened  a  moment  for  the  piano 
above.  But  all  was  silent.  "  He  is  happy," 
she  said  to  herself ;  "  he  has  gone  with  his 
friends.  Or  perhaps  he  is  up  there  living  it 
all  over  again."  And  her  imagination,  touch 
ed  anew  with  the  old  obstinate  insanity,  took 
the  road  up  to  his  never-seen  chamber,  bent 
over  him,  and  rejoiced  with  him.  "  Oh,  if  I 
could—"  she  said  ;  "  if  I  could  !  But  he  will 
never  know  how  a  dying  noble  lady  used  to 
listen  to  his  playing  in  the  dead  of  night, 
136 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

and  loved  him,  and  left  him  her  bless 
ing—" 

Veronika  had  no  sleep  that  night.  Before 
day  the  doctor  was  summoned.  He  remain 
ed  several  hours.  At  going  he  drew  Veroni 
ka  aside,  and  by  signs  succeeded  at  last  in 
procuring  from  her  the  package  of  letters  the 
Countess  had  once  shown  him.  He  looked 
at  the  superscriptions,  and  took  from  among 
them  one  "To  the  Abbe  S ." 

That  evening  he  brought  with  him  a  white- 
haired  old  man  in  priestly  garb,  whom  Ve 
ronika  was  relieved  to  hear  address  her  in 
her  native  tongue. 

Presently,  with  muffled  footsteps  and  a 
frightened,  solemn  mien,  she  led  him  into 
the  Countess's  bedroom,  dimly  lighted  by 
shaded  candles,  and  left  them  long  alone 
together. 

Prospero,  returning  home  that  night,  open 
ed  the  window  wide  and  stood  a  moment 
looking  out  at  the  stars,  at  peace  with  life, 
every  desire  for  the  moment  hushed,  satis 
fied.  Then  he  lighted  the  candles  on  the 
piano,  and  the  faint  yellow  illumination 
137 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

brought  out  a  hint  of  color  in  the  objects 
around.  It  showed  an  ordinary,  rather  bare 
room ;  he  lived  in  it  very  little.  The  litter 
ing  music  and  the  piano  formed  its  chief 
adornment. 

He  sat  down,  but  for  a  moment  did  not 
touch  the  keys.  He  removed  the  flower 
from  his  coat  and  smelt  it,  thinking  of 
Rosina,  who  had  given  it  him  at  the  theatre 
door — Rosina  with  the  broad  velvet -faced 
hat,  the  tight  silk  dress,  the  diamonds  in  her 
ears,  and  the  small  basket  of  flowers  on  her 
arm.  She  was  pretty — oh,  pretty  !  Having 
thought  how  pretty  she  was,  he  wisely  toss 
ed  away  her  faded  favor,  determining  to  re 
main  cold  and  prudent.  He  shook  back  his 
hair,  as  if  thereby  to  free  his  mind  of  her, 
spread  his  hands  over  the  ivory  keys,  and 
began,  as  he  loved  to  do  before  sleeping,  to 
let  his  fancies  and  emotions  make  them 
selves  sound. 

He  played  long,  losing  himself,  finding  a 

melodious  vesture  for  his  half-formed  dream. 

The   night  was  very   quiet ;    it  came  to  be 

very  late  without  his  perceiving  it.    Sudden- 

138 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

ly  he  felt  a  cool  air  on  his  forehead  —  he 
looked  up,  and  paused  in  his  playing,  his 
hands  motionless  above  the  keys,  his  lips 
open.  He  felt  that  he  ought  to  speak,  but 
his  voice  failed  to  answer  his  will.  He  was 
asking  himself  in  the  dim  background  of  his 
consciousness  how  the  Countess  Paula  von 
Schattenort  had  entered  his  dwelling  so 
noiselessly,  and  what  she  might  be  seeking 
there.  More  clearly  he  was  wondering  at 
her  face,  strangely  still  and  white,  vague 
ly  woe  -  begone,  astonished,  pathetic.  He 
recognized  her,  yet  she  seemed  to  him  alter 
ed  from  the  one  he  sometimes  saw  on  the 
balcony  and  met  on  the  stairs — that  object 
without  interest,  a  woman  not  pretty.  Per 
haps  it  was  the  wonderful  hair  that,  shining 
along  her  cheeks  like  a  pale  gilded  mist, 
transfigured  her.  The  firm  fine  braids  that 
heretofore  he  had  seen  always  wound  in 
austere  simplicity  about  her  head  were  un 
done  ;  the  narrowly  waved  hair  floated  to  her 
knees ;  her  face  peered  wistfully  between 
two  shimmering  bands  of  it.  She  was 
clothed  in  a  white  garment  bordered  with 
139 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

dark  fur ;  a  heavy  rosary  hung  about  her 
neck. 

She  looked  at  him  a  long  moment  with 
fixed  eyes,  an  expression  of  plaintive  disillu 
sion,  and  said  nothing. 

He  tried  to  ask  in  what  manner  he  might 
serve  her,  but  his  tongue  was  numb. 

She  turned  and  looked  all  about  the  room, 
very  slowly,  as  a  person  seeking  something. 
Then  she  looked  again  at  him,  silently,  with 
that  same  face  of  disappointment ;  and  her 
hands,  that  had  been  tightly  shut  on  the 
golden  crucifix  appended  to  her  rosary, 
opened  and  slipped  softly  to  her  sides.  She 
turned  to  the  door.  He  rose  from  his  seat, 
and  without  taking  his  eyes  from  her,  fum 
bled  to  lift  the  candle  from  its  socket,  to  light 
her  way;  he  was  awkward  in  his  amazement. 
He  saw  her  pass  the  threshold.  In  a  second 
he  followed  her.  She  was  not  in  the  next 
room.  He  passed  through  the  two  rooms 
that  separated  him  from  the  door  leading  to 
the  common  stairway.  He  came  to  the  door ; 
it  was  as  he  had  left  it,  secured  for  the  night. 
Seized  with  dismay,  in  spite  of  the  thought 
140 


PAULA    IN    ITALY 

that  she  must  have  lingered  behind  in  the 
shady  embrasure  of  a  window,  he  undid  the 
chain  and  bolt  and  came  out  on  the  landing 
and  looked,  expecting  inconsistently  to  see  a 
white  figure  vanishing  down  the  steps.  He 
saw  nothing  but  a  faint  light  cast  upon  the 
wall  at  the  turn  of  the  stairs.  He  stood  hes 
itating. 

In  a  moment  he  heard  below  a  sound  of 
weeping;  he  went  down  with  a  trembling  of 
the  knees.  On  the  landing  of  the  piano 
nobile  was  the  landlady.  She  had  set  her 
little  brass  lamp  on  the  last  step,  and  was  cry 
ing.  The  door  to  the  Countess's  apartment 
was  wide  open,  and  the  draught  from  there 
made  the  tiny  flame  flicker  and  smoke. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Prospero,  in  a  husky 
whisper. 

"She  is  dead,  the  poor  lady!"  sobbed  the 
padrona. 

He  felt  his  hair  softly  rising. 


DORASTUS 


SHE  had  large  violet  eyes,  of  a  melancholy 
effect,  and  fine  honey-colored  hair,  flowing 
smoothly  over  her  ears.  She  looked  exces 
sively  meek  and  always  a  little  apprehensive, 
as  if  accustomed  to  reproaches,  yet  never 
quite  hardened  to  them.  One  easily  sup 
posed  her  to  be  an  orphan. 

She  lived  with  an  aunt,  her  mother's  half- 
sister,  considerably  older  and  less  pleasing 
than  her  mother  in  that  charming  woman's 
brief  day.  Her  cousins  were  all  older  than 
she ;  the  girls  were  so  perfect  in  every  respect 
that  intimacy  between  her  and  them  was  out 
of  the  question  ;  the  son,  a  big,  blunt  young 
man,  was  mostly  away,  and,  when  at  home, 
too  much  taken  up  with  other  interests  to  be 
more  than  just  aware  of  the  violet  eyes.  So, 
142 


DOR ASTUS 

life  was  very  dull  for  Emmeline — "  Emmie  " 
she  was  familiarly  called. 

She  went  often  of  an  evening  to  her 
mother's  grave,  and,  sitting  beside  it,  reflect 
ed  how  it  was  in  keeping  with  the  general 
sadness  of  things  that  there  should  be  no 
prospect  of  any  change  for  her  in  all  the 
years  of  her  life,  no  change  from  the  present 
weary  round  of  aunt  and  cousins,  of  sterile 
duties  and  insipid  pleasures. 

And  there,  by  her  mother's  grave,  came 
the  very  change  she  was  sighing  for.  She  sat 
on  the  sward,  musingly  watching  the  square 
tower  of  the  church  grow  gray  against 
the  delicate,  flushed  sky,  when  she  became 
aware  of  a  stranger  going  from  stone  to  stone 
in  the  fading  light,  examining  the  inscriptions. 
At  first  she  was  afraid.  While  she  debated 
whether  to  hide  or  flee,  the  stranger  ap 
proached,  and  in  a  foreign  voice  and  accent 
asked  some  common  question  about  the 
place.  She  could  not  answer  readily  for  a  fool 
ish  shame  mixed  with  terror.  She  got  to  her 
feet,  blushing,  then  turning  pale.  It  could  be 
none  other  than  the  astonishing  fiddler  who 
143 


D  O  R  A  S  T  U  S 

had  played  the  night  before  in  the  hall  at 
Colthorpe,  and  who  could,  they  said,  make 
your  hair  rise  on  end  by  the  power  of  weird, 
unearthly  music,  or  your  eyes  dissolve  with 
tenderness — as  he  chose.  She  stared  without 
speech  into  his  dark,  peculiar  face.  And  he, 
seeing  that  she  was  discomfited,  instead  of 
apologizing  and  withdrawing,  undertook,  in  a 
tone  as  persuasive  as  his  violin's,  to  set  her  at 
ease.  And  when  a  few  days  later  he  disap 
peared  from  that  part  of  the  world,  the  violet 
eyes  disappeared  too. 

Aunt  Lucretia  in  time  received  a  letter, 
asking  her  forgiveness  and  announcing  Em 
mie's  marriage. 

She  did  not  grant  her  forgiveness  until 
several  years  later,  after  due  savoring  of  sad, 
black-bordered  letters  from  Emmie,  imploring 
kindness.  Her  husband,  after  a  brief  illness, 
was  dead  ;  her  little  boy  and  she  were  left 
alone,  without  anything  in  the  world.  She  ac 
knowledged  her  fault  so  humbly ;  she  owned 
so  freely  that  her  marriage  had  been  ex 
cessively — deservedly — wretched;  she  longed 
so  desperately  to  be  taken  back  into  her  old 
144 


D  O  R  A  S  T  U  S 

home,  that  Lucretia  found  herself  relenting. 
Her  daughters  were  now  married  and  lived 
at  a  distance ;  she  felt  daily  more  and  more 
the  need  of  a  female  companion.  Her  son, 
after  reading  the  young  widow's  pitiful  ap 
peals,  protested  that  it  would  be  inhuman  to 
refuse  her  a  shelter.  It  was  decided  that  she 
should  be  allowed  to  come,  and  in  time  the 
big,  blunt  Gregory,  of  whom  she  had  been 
afraid  in  old  days,  went  a  long  stretch  of  the 
journey  to  meet  her,  for  that  had  seemed  to 
him  requisite,  though  to  his  mother  super 
fluous.  He  even  crossed  the  arm  of  sea  that 
she  must  presently  be  crossing,  with  no  ap 
parent  purpose  but  to  cross  it  again  with  her. 

When  the  boat  was  well  out  at  sea  and 
the  passengers  had  disposed  themselves 
in  patience  about  the  deck,  he  marched  up 
and  down,  as  did  several  of  the  others,  and, 
while  avoiding  to  look  like  one  in  search, 
sought  diligently  the  remembered  face  of  his 
cousin. 

It  was  a  cheerless  gray  day.  The  sea  was 
quiet ;  the  boat  pitched  but  slightly.  He 
was  not  long  unsuccessful ;  when  he  had  satis- 

K  14? 


D  O  R  A  S  T  U  S 

fied  himself  that  she  was  not  in  the  crowd  on 
the  windside,  he  went  to  lee  and  saw  her 
sitting  almost  alone.  She  might  have  gone 
there  for  warmth.  She  did  not  seem  to 
notice  that  cinders  and  fine  soot  were  raining 
down  upon  her.  He  found  himself  disin 
clined  to  accost  her  at  once ;  he  went  to  lean 
where  he  could  watch  her  without  pointed 
appearance  of  curiosity. 

She  looked  mournful  in  her  black  things — 
not  the  new,  crisp  crape  of  well-to-do  bereave 
ment,  but  a  poor  gentlewoman's  ordinary 
shabby  black.  Her  cheeks  had  lost  their 
pretty  roundness ;  the  effect  of  her  eyes  was 
more  than  ever  melancholy.  The  pale  little 
face,  set  in  its  faint-colored  hair,  framed  in 
its  black  bonnet,  might  pass  a  hundred  times 
unnoticed :  it  had  little  to  arrest  the  atten 
tion  ;  but  attention,  by  whatever  chance 
once  secured,  must  be  followed  by  a  gentle, 
compassionate  interest  in  the  breast  of  the 
beholder.  This  emotion  felt  Gregory. 

She  sat  on  one  of  the  ship's  benches,  hug 
ging  her  black  wrap  about  her,  hiding  in  it 
her  little  gloveless  hands.  A  bundle  was  on 
146 


DORASTUS 

her  lap,  at  her  feet  a  large  bag.  She  looked 
wearily  off  over  the  crumpled  leaden  plain, 
and  now  and  then  called  :  "  Dorastus  !  Doras- 
tus!" 

At  that,  a  toddling  bundle  came  towards 
her,  never  near  enough  to  be  caught,  and 
toddled  off  again,  coming  and  going  busily, 
with  muttered  baby  soliloquy.  He  was  a 
comical  little  figure,  clumsily  muffled  against 
the  cold,  with  a  pointed  knit  cap  drawn  well 
down  over  his  ears.  If  he  ignored  her  call, 
she  rose  and  fetched  him,  shaking  his  little 
hand  and  bidding  him  not  to  go  again  so  far 
from  mother.  He  dragged  at  his  arm,  squeal 
ing  the  while  she  exhorted,  and  almost  tum 
bled  over  when  she  let  him  loose.  Then  he 
resumed  his  interrupted  play. 

After  a  time  he  seemed  to  tire  of  it.  He 
came  to  his  mother  and,  touching  the  bag  at 
her  feet,  unintelligibly  demanded  something. 
She  shook  her  head.  He  seemed  to  repeat 
his  demand.  "  No,  no,  Dorastus  —  mother 
can't !"  she  said,  fretfully.  Then  this  dot  of 
humanity  made  himself  formidable.  Gregory 
watched  in  surprise  the  little  imperious  face 
147 


DORASTUS 

become  disquietingly  like  an  angry  man's. 
He  hammered  with  both  small  fists  on  his 
mother's  knee,  and  stamped  and  loudly  sput 
tered.  She  caught  his  arms  for  a  moment 
and  held  them  quiet ;  mother  and  child 
looked  each  other  in  the  face,  his  strange, 
unbabyish,  heavy-browed  eyes  flaming,  hers 
lit  with  a  low  smouldering  resentment.  He 
struggled  from  her  grasp,  and  at  last,  as  his 
conduct  was  beginning  to  attract  attention, 
she  stooped,  vanquished,  and,  bruising  her 
fingers  on  the  awkward  buckles,  undid  the 
bag. 

Gregory  at  this  point  approached  and 
spoke  to  her  by  name.  She  lifted  her  face, 
her  eyes  full  of  helpless  tears.  She  redden 
ed  faintly  on  recognizing  him.  She  handed 
the  boy  a  diminutive  toy-fiddle  from  the 
bag.  Pacified,  he  retired  at  a  little  distance 
and,  while  his  mamma  and  the  gentleman 
entered  into  conversation,  scraped  seriously, 
the  tassel  on  the  tip  of  his  cap  bobbing  with 
his  funny  little  airs  de  tete. 

"  How  good  of  you,  how  good  of  you — 
how  comforting  to  me  !"  she  said,  her  forlorn 
148 


DORASTUS 

face  softly  brightening ;  "  I  was  getting  so 
tired  of  taking  care  of  myself !  I  have  never 
travelled  alone,  and — and  I  am  so  timid — " 

How  different  seemed  the  old  house  to 
Emmie  returning!  She  settled  down  in  it 
with  the  sense  of  passionate  contentment  I 
can  imagine  in  a  dove  restored  to  the  cote 
after  escaping  the  fowler's  snare  and  the  rage 
of  wintry  storms.  How  shut  it  was  against 
the  cold !  how  safe  from  arrogant  men  de 
manding  money !  Life  in  it  now  seemed  to 
her  one  round  of  luxurious  pleasures:  one 
could  sleep  undisturbed,  tea  and  buttered 
bread  came  as  regularly  as  the  desire  for 
them ;  flowers  bloomed  at  every  season  on 
mantel-shelf  and  table ;  the  grate  glowed  as 
if  to  glow  were  no  more  than  a  grate's  nature. 
There  was  undeniably  the  domestic  tyrant 
still ;  but  what  a  mild  one  by  comparison ! 
Aunt  Lucretia  might  be  peremptory  and 
critical  and  contradictory  :  to  Emmie  in  these 
days  she  personated  a  benevolent  Providence. 
It  is  possible  that  the  lady's  disposition  had 
softened  towards  her  niece :  her  superior 
daughters  were  removed,  and  the  little  widow 
149 


DORASTUS 

with  her  manifold  experiences  was  unques 
tionably  a  person  more  interesting  to  have 
about  than  the  moping  girl  of  yore. 

The  two  ladies,  sitting  together  with  their 
wools,  in  undertones  talked  over  Emmie's 
married  miseries.  She  was  as  ready  with  her 
confidences  as  Aunt  Lucretia  with  her  listen 
ing  ear.  There  seemed  no  end  to  what  she 
had  to  tell  or  the  number  of  times  she  might 
relate  the  same  incident  and  be  heard  out  with 
tolerance.  She  was  glad  of  some  one  to  whom 
to  unburden  her  heart  of  its  accumulated 
grievance  ;  she  could  not  but  be  a  little  glad, 
too,  now  it  was  well  over,  that  so  much  that 
was  unusual  had  happened  to  her,  since  it  lent 
her  this  importance.  Aunt  Lucretia  gave  a 
great  deal  of  good  advice — said  what  she  would 
have  done  in  like  case ;  Emmie  accepted  it 
with  as  much  humble  gratitude  as  if  it  had 
still  been  of  service.  She  concurred  with  all 
her  heart  in  her  aunt's  unqualified  condemna 
tion  of  her  first  lapse  from  the  respectable 
path — her  elopement ;  she  declared  with  per 
fect  sincerity  that  she  was  puzzled  to  ex 
plain  how  it  all  happened — certainly  before 
150 


DORASTUS 

a  week  had  been  over  the  folly  of  it  had 
stared  her  in  the  face. 

The  young  widow,  when  she  had  taken 
her  aunt  through  scenes  of  rage  and  jeal 
ousy  that  made  that  matron's  nostrils  open 
as  a  war-horse's,  and  had  shown  up  the  petty 
tyrannies  and  meannesses  of  a  bad-tempered, 
vindictive,  vain  man,  afflicted  with  a  set  of 
morbidly  tense  nerves,  would  sometimes  in 
consistently  betray  a  sort  of  pride  in  the 
fact  that  she  had  been  adored  by  this  erratic 
being,  whose  ill-treatment  of  her  came  partly 
from  that  fact ;  also  a  certain  pride  in  the 
assurance  she  had  had  on  every  side,  of  his 
being  a  great  artist  who  might  have  risen  to 
fortune  had  he  been  blessed  with  a  different 
constitution.  A  prince  had  once,  in  token  of 
his  appreciation,  bestowed  on  him  a  jewelled 
order ;  Emmie  wished  she  had  not  been 
forced  to  sell  it  when  he  was  ill.  She  her 
self  could  not  judge  of  his  playing  —  she 
could  not  abide  the  sound  of  a  violin — but 
the  star  might  be  accounted  a  proof  of  his 
ability. 

"You    were    too    meek,    my    dear,"   said 


DORASTUS 

Lucretia,  conclusively,  after  a  tale  of  op. 
pression  ;  "  I  should  have  taken  a  stand." 

"  Dear  aunt,"  said  Emmie,  pensively  con 
sidering  her  relative's  size  and  the  cast  of 
her  features,  "  I  think  you  would.  He  would 
have  been  afraid  of  you.  If  I  displeased  him, 
he  said  I  was  rebellious  because  I  felt  my 
self  bolstered  up  by  the  admiration  of  who 
ever  in  the  inn  had  happened  to  give  me 
a  passing  glance,  and  he  would  torment  me 
until  I  swore  I  loved  him  with  every  thought 
of  my  life.  Sometimes,  when  he  had  made 
me  cry,  he  would  cry,  too — I  hate  that  in  a 
man,  aunt ! — and  go  on  tormenting  me  until 
I  said  I  forgave  him — " 

11  Ah,  I  should  have  taught  him  a  lesson  !" 
"  Yes,  aunt,  you  would.  But  I  swore  what 
ever  he  pleased.  If  I  was  sulky,  he  was  as 
likely  as  not  to  sit  up  all  night,  wailing  on 
his  violin  when  I  wanted  to  sleep.  He  al 
ways  took  remote  chambers  at  inns,  for  the 
privilege  of  playing  at  night,  if  he  pleased. 
If  I  complained,  he  said  that  if  I  had  liked 
the  music  it  would  have  soothed  me  to  sleep, 
and  if  I  did  not  like  it  it  was  well  I  should  be 
152 


DORASTUS 

kept  awake.  He  was  very  sore  on  the 
point  of  my  not  being  in  love  with  his 
music." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  a  man  play  the  fiddle 
in  my  bedroom !"  said  Aunt  Lucretia,  with  a 
face  of  danger. 

And  Emmie,  from  this  lady's  example  and 
counsel,  got  a  retrospective  courage  that  en 
abled  her  in  memory,  now  that  she  was  well- 
fed,  well-dressed,  and  possessed  of  the  as 
surance  that  goes  with  those  conditions,  to 
bring  the  stormy  scenes  with  her  husband  to 
an  end  more  honorable  to  herself.  She  could 
imagine  herself  even  braving  him  —  when, 
perhaps,  would  come  in  sight  Dorastus.  Then 
her  heart  would  sink  in  consciousness  of  its 
folly.  There  was  no  contending  for  her  with 
a  nature  like  that.  That  baby  could  bend 
her  to  his  will  even  as  the  father  had  done. 
He  was  so  little  now  that  she  could  not  strive 
with  him  to  any  enduring  advantage  ;  and 
when  he  would  be  bigger,  she  felt  it  already, 
no  revolt  of  hers  would  be  of  use.  The  tyran 
ny  was  handed  down  from  father  to  son,  with 
the  sensitiveness  and  the  jealousy.  She  look- 
153 


DORASTUS 

ed  over  at  the  little,  intrepid  face  sometimes 
with  a  sort  of  slave's  aversion :  every  day  he 
would  be  more  like  that  other ;  he  kept  him 
disagreeably  alive  now  in  her  memory  with 
the  tricks  of  his  face,  the  difficulties  of  his 
temper.  She  only  hoped,  in  an  unformed 
way  as  yet,  that  before  he  grew  to  make 
himself  heavily  felt  something  might  have 
arisen  for  her  protection. 

She  made  him  pretty  things  with  a  moth 
er's  full  indulgence,  caressed  him  in  due 
measure,  and  gave  dutiful  attention  to  his 
every  request ;  but  deep  in  her  heart  and  in 
her  eye  was  a  reservation.  And  in  him, 
though  he  could  hardly  frame  speech,  seemed 
an  inherited  suspicion  of  this  want  of  loyalty 
in  her,  a  consciousness  of  her  appeal  to  some 
thing  outside,  against  him.  In  his  baby 
rages  he  seemed  aware,  by  an  instinct  beyond 
his  understanding,  that  she  did  not  care  for 
them,  except  that  they  made  her  uncomfort 
able,  and  he  beat  her  with  all  his  fierce  little 
strength  for  it.  She  belonged  strictly  to  him, 
and  there  was  always  treachery  in  the  air  ;  so 
he  must  be  foes  with  all  surrounding  her,  and 
154 


DORASTUS 

most  severe  with  herself,  whom  he  idolatrous- 
ly  loved. 

Often,  if  they  were  alone  and  she  did  noth 
ing  to  cross  him,  but  treated  respectfully  his 
every  whim,  he  rewarded  her  gravely  with 
such  tokens  of  his  devotion  as  he  could  de 
vise.  If  they  were  out  under  the  trees,  he 
would  make  a  hundred  little  voyages  and 
from  each  bring  back  some  treasure,  flower 
or  pebble,  that  he  dropped  in  her  lap,  watch 
ing  her  face  to  see  if  she  were  appropriately 
pleased.  If  she  were  busy  with  her  stitching 
and  after  a  time  forgot  to  acknowledge  his 
gift,  he  would  make  known  his  disgust  by 
taking  everything  from  her  and  stamping  it 
under  foot ;  but  if  she  wisely  kept  her  whole 
mind  on  him,  and  gave  him  praise  and  smiles, 
and  admired  his  offerings,  he  would  multiply 
his  efforts  to  please  her,  get  her  things  the 
most  difficult  and  perilous  to  obtain,  stones 
that  were  heavy,  insects  that  were  frightful, 
parade  before  her  every  little  accomplish 
ment,  be  debonnaire  and  royal,  and  expose 
his  true  worshipping  heart  to  his  servant. 

Woe  if  in  such  moments  of  expansion 
155 


DORASTUS 

Gregory  came  out  on  the  lawn  and  took  the 
empty  seat  on  the  rustic  bench  beside  Em 
mie  !  The  child  would  know  nothing  of  a 
divided  allegiance,  and  showed  his  sense  of 
outrage  by  a  prompt  attack  on  both,  whom 
he  seemed  to  think  equally  conspirators 
against  his  peace.  They  stood  his  babbled 
vituperation  and  baby  blows  with  smiling  pa 
tience  for  a  little,  trying  to  converse  cohe 
rently  under  them  ;  then,  when  he  burst  into 
angry  tears,  with  a  sigh  the  mother  bore  him 
off  to  be  lectured  and  calmed,  resuming  her 
conversation  with  Gregory  at  a  more  oppor 
tune  moment.  Before  Gregory  she  never 
spoke  of  her  husband. 

With  the  passing  months  her  cheek  got 
back  its  freshness,  her  eye  its  clear  bright 
ness.  Now  a  haunting  fear  awoke  in  her 
breast:  Aunt  Lucretia  was  wearying  of 
her  presence.  She  had  heard  all  of  her  in 
juries  till  the  story  was  stale.  She  was  be 
ginning  to  find  fault  with  her  just  as  of  old, 
to  set  her  back  in  her  place  now  and  then 
with  the  former  terrible  abruptness,  and 
that  place  a  very  low  one.  The  poor  little 
156 


DORAS T US 

woman  accepted  all  abjectly,  shuddering  at 
the  possibility  of  being  again  cast  on  the 
world  with  her  child.  She  went  about  with 
reddened  eyelids  and  a  look  of  pathetic  ner 
vousness,  hushing  Dorastus  whenever  he 
lifted  his  voice,  doing  her  pitiful  best  that 
neither  should  give  offence.  Gregory  could 
not  look  on  in  patience:  he  laid  the  gentle 
afflicted  creature's  tremors  forever  by  asking 
her  to  become  his  wife. 

His  mother  left  the  house  and  went  to 
abide  with  her  daughters.  But  in  time  she 
became  reconciled  to  what  was  unalterable 
and  returned  to  her  ancient  seat  of  govern 
ment,  allowing  her  age  to  be  cheered  by 
the  sight  of  her  favorite  child's  happiness. 
Little  sons  and  daughters,  his  wife  gave  him 
four,  among  whom  prevailed  straw-colored 
hair  and  eyes  of  the  admired  flower  tint.  The 
old  house  was  gay  as  at  early  dawn  a  tree 
full  of  gossiping  birds. 

So  to  Emmie  was  raised  a  mighty  salva 
tion  ;  against  Dorastus  arrayed  themselves 
innocent  yellow  heads,  like  so  many  insuper 
able  golden  lances. 

157 


D  O  R  A  S  T  U  S 

When  the  children  were  called  into  the 
drawing-room  to  be  shown  to  the  company, 
a  visitor  was  sure  to  ask,  "  And  who  is  this 
little  man  ?"  meaning  Dorastus  ;  so  unlikely 
did  it  appear  that  he  could  be  of  his  moth 
er's  kindred.  To  the  golden  hen,  her  golden 
brood.  How  in  seriousness  call  a  chick  the 
little  black  creature  with  the  large  beak  and 
the  piercing  eyes? 

And  as  unlike  his  brothers  as  he  was 
physically,  so  unlike  he  remained  in  dispo 
sition.  By  all  the  children  as  by  Dorastus 
himself  the  difference  in  kind  was  felt.  He 
remained  solitary  among  them  and  at  odds 
with  all.  They  set  him  down  a  domineer 
ing,  bad-tempered  thing,  and  he  summed 
them  up  scornfully  as  a  pack  of  pudding- 
heads.  It  was  not  plain  to  any  one  why 
he  thought  himself  superior :  his  actual 
accomplishments  were  somewhat  less  than 
ordinary.  Bullet -headed,  downright  Hec 
tor,  his  brother  nearest  in  age,  could  beat 
him  at  any  sport,  and  when  their  differences 
brought  them  to  blows  was  rather  more  than 
half  sure  of  victory  over  his  senior,  inferior  to 
158 


DORAS T US 

him  in  size  and  art ;  Martin  was  cleverer  than 
he  at  his  books;  the  little  girls  even  could 
give  him  points  in  conduct — yet  his  attitude 
of  every  minute  insisted  upon  it  that  he  was 
better  than  any  of  them,  and  that  his  mother 
was  more  particularly  his  mother  than  she 
was  theirs.  Emmie,  it  is  true,  did  not  reprove 
him  quite  as  she  did  Hector ;  he  was  allowed 
more  than  the  others  the  full  swing  of  his 
temperament.  His  step-father  punctiliously 
refrained  from  meddling  with  him,  and  if  he 
made  trouble  with  his  temper  and  his  pride 
Emmie  warned  her  nice-natured  children  not 
to  irritate  him,  to  make  allowances  for  him. 
Insensibly  that  qualified  the  relation  between 
Dorastus  and  his  mother.  That  negative 
indulgence  he  felt,  however  dimly,  did  not 
prove  him  a  favorite :  it  made  him  a  sort  of 
alien.  -He  became  more  reserved  in  his  de 
mands  upon  his  mother.  There  were  too 
many  yellow  heads  for  one  boy  to  contend 
with  successfully  by  ordinary  means.  He 
still  held  to  it  bravely  in  his  attitude  towards 
his  brothers  and  sisters  that  he  was  better 
than  they,  and  that  his  mother  belonged  ex- 
159 


D  O  R  A  S  T  U  S 

clusively  to  him,  but  herself  he  troubled  less 
and  less  with  his  jealousy  and  his  claims.  It 
might  have  seemed  at  last  almost  as  if  she 
were  become  indifferent  to  him.  Absorbed 
by  her  domestic  cares,  she  had  scarcely  per 
ceived  the  change. 

The  cares  were  many,  but  pleasant  in  their 
nature.  Gregory  was  steadily,  lazily  kind, 
the  children  were  healthy,  she  herself  was  in 
the  beautiful  full  bloom  of  life — she  found  it 
good.  She  had  almost  forgotten  the  bitter 
taste  of  her  beginnings,  when  one  night,  star 
tled  from  a  deep  sleep,  she  lay  in  the  dark 
awhile  and  wondered  that  she  should  dream 
so  clearly  of  hearing  the  long,  low  wail  of  a 
violin.  It  had  recreated  about  her  in  an  in 
stant  the  atmosphere  of  old  days.  She  lay 
as  she  had  lain  often  enough,  with  lead  upon 
her  heart,  a  dead  sense  of  there  being  no  es 
cape  in  view  from  this  slavery,  this  poverty, 
this  succession  of  weary  travel  and  third-rate 
inns,  this  nerve-racking  sound  of  the  violin 
penetrating  through  the  brain  as  a  red-hot 
needle  —  no  release  from  this  unrelenting 
master,  this  terrible  added  burden  of  baby. 
1 60 


D  O  R  A  S  T  U  S 

She  shook  herself  free  from  what  she  thought 
the  remaining  effect  of  a  nightmare;  she  had 
seemed  for  a  moment  to  smell  the  very  es 
sence  her  first  husband  used  on  his  hair, 
mixed  with  the  flat  odor  of  the  small  Dutch 
inn -chamber  in  which  Dorastus  was  born. 
She  turned  over  on  her  side  to  sleep  again, 
when  she  became  assured  that  she  heard  a 
violin.  She  listened  through  her  thick  heart 
beats,  a  thrill  of  superstitious  horror  stiffen 
ing  her  skin.  She  knew  it  unreasonable,  but 
could  not  dispel  her  fear.  She  rose  sitting 
in  bed,  becoming  at  last  fully  awake.  Still 
she  heard  the  violin,  sounding  faintly,  as  if 
from  some  distant  part  of  the  house.  Then 
she  thought.  It  had  been  these  long  years 
in  the  garret,  the  treasured  Amati  he  had 
made  her  swear  to  keep  for  his  child.  The 
child  had  found  it. 

She  could  not  fall  to  sleep  again,  she  must 
satisfy  herself. 

She  slipped  her  feet  into  their  shoes,  got 

her    dressing-gown    about    her,   and    crept 

through  the  shadowy  corridor,  up  the  stair, 

to  where  Dorastus  slept.    Since  he  would  be 

L  161 


D  O  R  A  S  T  U  S 

the  master,  whoever  shared  his  room,  which 
was  obviously  unfair  to  his  room-mate,  he 
had  been  allotted  a  little  chamber  by  himself 
in  a  somewhat  remote  part  of  the  house. 

As  she  approached  it,  the  sound  of  the 
violin  came  more  and  more  clear  to  her. 
She  stopped  and  leaned  against  the  balus 
ters,  yielding  to  a  soul-sickness  that  had  its 
rise  in  she  scarce  knew  which,  memory  or 
foreboding.  She  listened  curiously.  It  was 
strange  playing,  though  simple,  subdued  to 
not  wound  the  night  silence;  unordinary  as 
it  was,  there  was  nothing  tentative  about  it, 
the  hands  seemed  going  to  it  with  a  fine 
boldness,  a  delicate  natural  skill.  The  mother 
felt  not  a  moment's  joy. 

She  came  to  the  door,  opened  it  noiseless 
ly,  and  stood  in  the  doorway  with  her  candle 
shining  upward  in  her  wide  eyes,  her  solemn 
face. 

Dorastus  stopped  playing,  and  said,  with  a 
gleeful,  short  laugh,  "  I  knew  it  would  make 
you  come !" 

As  Emmie  had  expected,  he  held  the 
Amati.  He  had  thrown  off  his  jacket  and 
162 


D  O  R  A  S  T  U  S 

tie  and  stood  in  his  shirt- sleeves,  with  his 
neck  bare.  His  dark  eyes  were  burning  and 
dancing ;  his  black  hair  was  ruffled  and 
pushed  up  on  end ;  his  face  was  hotly 
flushed.  His  whole  attitude  had  in  it  some 
thing  new,  finely  expressive  of  conscious 
power. 

"I  knew  it  would  make  you  come!"  he 
said,  with  a  triumphant  nod. 

She  entered  and  set  down  her  light  on  the 
little  chest  of  drawers.  "You  ought  not  to 
play  at  night,"  she  said,  faintly.  "  It  disturbs 
people's  sleep." 

"It  wouldn't  wake  them!"  he  exclaimed, 
scornfully,  "and  if  it  did  I  shouldn't  care, 
as  long  as  they  didn't  come  and  bother.  I 
wanted  to  call  you,  to  make  you  come  to 
me.  I  was  sure  I  could.  Are  you  cold, 
little  mother  dear?  Get  into  my  bed." 

He  laid  down  his  instrument ;  he  came 
where  she  stood,  with  her  silken  hair  tum 
bling  over  her  shoulders,  and  felt  her  chilled 
hands. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said,  irritably,  taking  them 
from  him,  "  it  is  unheard  of,  playing  at  this 
163 


DORASTUS 

hour  of  the  night.  I  must  go."  But  she 
went  mechanically  to  sit  on  the  edge  of  his 
bed,  that  had  not  been  lain  in  that  night, 
and  still  kept  towards  him  that  wondering, 
dismayed  face. 

"  How  did  it  sound?"  asked  the  boy,  whose 
excitement  seemed  to  dull  his  perception,  so 
that  he  remained  unchilled  by  her  want  of 
warmth.  "  Did  it  say  plainly,  Arise,  wrap 
your  sky-blue  gown  about  you,  never  mind 
tying  up  your  gold  hair,  light  your  light,  and 
come  gliding  through  the  shadow  of  the 
sleeping  house,  to  your  dear  son,  the  only 
one  who  loves  you,  in  his  solitary  room,  far 
from  all  the  others  ?  That  is  what  I  meant 
it  should  say,  but  towards  the  end  I  meant 
it  to  say  something  else,  towards  the  end  it 
was  explaining.  Did  you  understand  that 
part?" 

"How  did  you  find  it?"  asked  Emmie, 
still  in  her  faint  voice.  "  Why  did  you  take 
it  without  asking  our  permission  ?  Who 
taught  you  to  play  on  it?" 

The  boy  laughed  again  his  gleeful  laugh. 
He  got  on  to  the  bed  beside  her  and  sat 
164 


DORASTUS 

with  his  chin  in  his  hand,  his  glowing  face 
full  of  pride  in  himself.  "Ah,  how  I  found 
it, when  it  was  up  in  the  garret?  It  was  like 
that  story  of  the  Greek  fellow — what's  his 
name  ? — dressed  like  a  girl.  When  the  ped 
dler  brought  shawls  and  ribbons  and  things, 
and  a  sword  hidden  among  them,  he  took 
the  sword,  and  the  peddler  knew  by  that  sign 
that  he  was  a  man.  In  the  garret  there 
were  old  hoop-skirts,  and  broken  mouse 
traps,  and  bird-cages,  and  boxes  full  of 
religious  books  and  things — but  my  hand 
went  straight  to  the  violin !" 

"  Tell  me  the  truth,  Dorastus,"  spoke  his 
mother,  wearily. 

"  Well,  then,  after  talking  with  a  certain 
person,  I  concluded  that  it  must  be  there. 
I  looked  for  it  and  found  it,  months  and 
months  ago.  I  took  it  and  learned  to  play, 
to  give  you  a  surprise.  Do  you  think  I  can 
ever  play  as  my  father  did?" 

"Whom  have  you  heard  speak  of  your 
father's  playing,  Dorastus?" 

"Aha!  There  is  some  one  who  remem 
bers  him  at  this  very  place — who  heard  him 
165 


DORASTUS 

just  once  and  never  forgot  it.  I  might  as 
well  tell  you :  it  is  the  brother  of  the  inn 
keeper's  wife  at  Colthorpe ;  he  used  to  be 
the  hostler,  but  is  too  old  now.  He  plays 
the  violin  himself,  at  weddings,  sometimes, 
and  dances — but  not  much,  dear  He  taught 
me,  but  I  have  gone  far  ahead — oh,  far  ahead 
of  him  now!  He  knows  when  it  is  good, 
however,  and  you  should  hear  what  he  says 
of  me  and  my  playing.  You  must  see  him 
and  ask  him.  He  had  climbed  up  from  out 
side  into  the  window  when  once  my  father 
played  at  Colthorpe,  and  he  can  speak  of  it 
as  if  it  had  happened  yesterday.  (He  says 
that  I  am  very  like  my  father,  that  any  one 
would  know  me  who  had  seen  him.  He 
knew,  before  asking,  whose  son  I  was. 
Only,  my  father  wore  his  hair  long;  well, 
I  will  wear  my  hair  long !)  He  says  that, 
as  he  played,  every  trouble  he  had  ever 
had  came  back  to  him,  even  the  death  of  a 
dog,  and  he  could  not  help  crying — but  he 
liked  it ;  he  enjoyed  feeling  bad.  And  he 
says  that  it  made  him  see  plain  before  him, 
but  not  very  plain  either,  a  lot  of  things  he 

1 66 


DORASTUS 

had  only  heard  folks  talk  about — the  shep 
herds  in  the  East,  for  instance,  with  the 
angels  singing  good -will  in  a  hole  in  the 
clouds.  And  he  knew  for  sure,  he  says, 
how  it  would  have  felt  if  the  girl  he  wanted 
hadn't  married  some  one  else  and  gone  to 
live  away,  but  had  taken  him.  I  asked  him, 
the  other  day,  if  I  could  make  him  feel  those 
things.  He  said,  '  Not  yet,  not  quite  yet ;' 
but  he  thought  I  was  beginning.  He  has  a 
number  of  music  sheets;  I  can  read  the 
notes  much  quicker  than  he  already,  though 
he  taught  me.  But  I  don't  care  for  those; 
there  must  be  others  much  better  than  those! 
Those  are  nothing !  I  like  better  what  I 
make  up  myself  than  I  do  those.  Did  you 
notice — but  no,  you  must  have  been  too  far 
— how  quickly  I  can  play  some  passages  ? 
My  left  fingers  go  like  a  spider,  and  it  is  so 
easy  for  them !  Giles  says  my  hand  is  like 
my  father's — he  remembers  it — a  true  violin 
ist's  hand.  I  feel  that  it  can  do  anything, 
dear — anything!  And  I  mean  that  it  shall 
do  such  things!  Look  at  it,  mother!"  and 
he  held  up  the  thin,  unboyishly  delicate, 
167 


DORAS T US 

angular  hand,  stronger  in  appearance  than 
the  rest  of  his  body.  "  Is  it  like  my  father's  ? 
You  are  the  one,  of  course,  that  remembers 
best.  Is  it  like  my  father's  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes — yes !"  she  almost  moaned. 

He  did  not  seem  to  perceive  her  impa 
tience,  but  contemplated  his  own  hand  a 
little  while,  calmly  sure  that  he  must  be  an 
object  of  pride  to  her  now.  "  It  is  quite 
unlike  Hector's,  at  least.  I  should  like  to 
see  him  try  to  play  with  his  pink  paws !" 

"  He  might  not  be  able  to  play,"  said 
Emmie,  "but  he  will,  I  dare  say,  do  some 
thing  quite  as  useful." 

"There  is  nothing  quite  so  useful!"  cried 
the  boy  superbly,  and  laughed  again  in  his 
perverse  glee.  "  It  is  more  useful  than  any 
thing  you  can  invent  to  say  that  Hector  is 
going  to  do.  Hector !  Hector  will  be  a 
rabbit  -  raiser ;  he  likes  rabbits  better  than 
anything.  But  I  will  come  with  my  violin 
and  make  the  rabbits  stand  up  on  their  hind- 
legs  and  stare ;  I  will  play  softly,  wheedlingly, 
going  slowly  backwards  towards  the  woods, 
and  they  will  all  come  after  me,  without  stop- 

168 


DORASTUS 

ping  for  a  nibble.  I  will  lead  them  away, 
away,  all  the  flock  of  little,  round -backed, 
skipping  things — just  as  I  made  you  get  out 
of  bed  and  come  up  here." 

"  I  came  to  tell  you  to  stop,  foolish  boy. 
I  didn't  want  you  to  wake  the  others.  It 
was  very  inconsiderate  in  you — very  incon 
siderate.  And  I  am  not  sure  that  I  am 
pleased  with  you  for  taking  a  thing  so  valu 
able — it  is  worth  a  great  deal  of  money — 
unknown  to  me,  or  for  doing  things  in  secret, 
or  for  having  dealings  with  people  I  know 
nothing  of — hostlers  and  inn-keepers'  wives. 
You  certainly  play  nicely — " 

"Ah,  did  you  truly  think  I  did,  mother?" 
he  asked,  eagerly.  "You  ought  to  know;  you 
used  to  hear  himself.  Now,  tell  me,  dear — " 

"But  I  am  not  at  all  sure" — she  inter 
rupted  him,  lamely  querulous  —  "that  the 
violin —  You  have  been  so  underhanded, 
and  I  see  now  how  you  waste  your  time — 
it  explains  your  being  so  bad  with  your  les 
sons.  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  the  violin 
ought  not  to  be  taken  from  you." 

"  I  shall  not  give  it  up !"  Dorastus  said 
169 


DORASTUS 

instantly,  and  it  might  be  perfectly  under 
stood  that  he  would  struggle  with  his  last 
breath  to  keep  it,  doing  as  much  damage  as 
in  him  lay  to  his  opposers. 

Emmie,  quite  pale,  looked  into  his  face, 
that  had  fully  returned  from  its  mood  of 
happy  pride,  and  he  looked  into  hers,  as 
they  had  looked  already  when  he  was  but  a 
baby.  Then,  seeing  what  she  had  always 
seen,  she  tossed  up  her  hands  with  a  little 
helpless,  womanish  motion,  and  complained  : 
"  Oh,  I  am  so  cold,  and  I  feel  so  ill !  It  is 
like  a  horrid  dream — and  I  am  miserable." 
She  rose  and  pulled  her  things  about  her 
to  go,  tears  shining  on  her  cheek. 

Dorastus,  who  had  leaped  up  and  laid  his 
hand  resolutely  on  his  violin  and  bow,  if  they 
should  be  in  any  immediate  danger,  watched 
her  with  a  strange  face.  His  jaw  was  iron. 
When,  as  she  reached  the  door,  he  unclinch- 
ed  his  teeth  to  speak,  his  face  worked  in 
spite  of  him  and  tears  gushed  from  his  eyes. 
"  You  never  understand  anything !"  he  ex 
ploded,  in  a  harsh,  angry  voice  all  his  pride 
could  not  keep  from  breaking.  Then,  with 
170 


DORAS T US 

the  indignant  scorn  of  a  child  for  a  grown-up 
person  who  seems  to  him  out  of  all  nature 
dull — "  Go  !"  he  said,  beating  his  arms  vio 
lently  about,  "  Go  !  Go!" 

So  Dorastus  retained  the  violin,  and  defi 
antly  played  on  it,  in  and  out  of  season.  His 
mother's  failure  to  be  pleased  with  his  play 
ing  seemed  to  have  cut  her  off,  in  his  estima 
tion,  from  all  right  to  an  opinion.  It  is  true 
that  after  the  first  night  she  armed  herself 
with  patience  towards  a  situation  she  could 
not  change.  She  did  not  cross  the  boy  more 
than  her  conscience  positively  enjoined ;  he 
might  play  since  he  pleased,  but  must  not 
neglect  his  studies  in  pursuit  of  a  vain  pas 
time. 

In  spite  of  her,  his  studies  suffered.  He 
felt  no  humiliation  now  that  Hector  or  any 
should  be  ahead  of  him  with  books  ;  he  could 
have  been  far  ahead  of  them  if  he  had  cho 
sen,  but  they  could  under  no  circumstance 
have  done  what  he  did.  Of  these  things  he 
was  proudly  convinced,  and  he  declared  them 
without  hesitation.  His  almost  untutored 
playing  took  on  a  strange  audacity,  a  fantas- 
171 


DORASTUS 

tical  quality  that  made  it  pleasing  to  none  in 
the  household.  That  did  not  disturb  him ; 
he  pursued  triumphantly  in  the  direction  re 
pugnant  to  them,  taking  their  disapproval  to 
naturally  point  to  its  excellence.  Sometimes, 
half  in  scorn,  he  would  play  for  the  little 
girls  the  simple  melodies  they  knew,  to  show 
them  that  he  could  do  that,  too,  if  he  chose  ; 
full  tenderly  could  he  play  them  and  delight 
their  gentle  hearts,  but  he  preferred,  if  he 
could  catch  an  unprejudiced  soul  for  audi 
ence,  a  housemaid  for  instance,  to  set  her  op 
posite  to  him  and  play  to  her  from  his  head, 
then  question  her  as  to  what  the  music  had 
made  her  think  of,  helping  her  to  detail  her 
impressions,  expressing  his  contempt  freely 
if  the  music  had  not  had  on  her  the  desired 
effect,  but  hugging  her  if  she  happened  to 
answer  as  he  wanted. 

Whenever  he  had  a  holiday,  or  took  one, 
he  disappeared  with  his  instrument,  returning 
with  a  conqueror's  mien,  out  of  place  in  a 
boy  with  whom  every  one  is  displeased,  and 
who  has  had  nothing  to  eat.  It  was  felt  by 
all  how  he  was  in  these  days  not  friends  with 
172 


DORAS T US 

anybody,  nor  anybody  friends  with  him.  It 
suited  his  pride  to  carry  off  the  situation  as 
if  he  had  been  a  king  among  boors. 

Her  eldest  child's  conduct  began  at  last  to 
be  something  of  a  grievance  to  Emmie.  She 
appealed  to  no  one  for  help  to  reduce  him  to 
obedience.  She  would  not  have  dared  do 
that ;  an  intimate  sense  forbade  it,  a  scruple 
which  would  have  had  no  voice,  perhaps,  had 
she  loved  him  more.  She  excused  and  up 
held  him  in  her  little  wars  with  Lucretia,  and 
respected  Gregory's  reluctance  to  interfere 
with  him,  founded  injustice  on  the  conscious 
ness  of  a  deep-seated,  invincible  dislike ;  but 
she  fretted  under  his  undutifulness  and  only 
refrained  from  satisfying  the  desire  to  attempt 
asserting  her  power  over  him,  though  it 
should  be  futile  as  ever,  in  the  idea  that,  at 
the  worst,  he  would  soon  be  leaving  home, 
with  Hector,  for  school,  when  the  detested 
violin  must  be  given  up  and  stronger  hands 
than  her  own  find  a  way  to  bend  his  obstinate 
spirit.  At  the  same  time,  in  a  corner  of  her 
heart,  she  felt  unreasonably,  unaccounta 
bly  hurt,  as  perhaps  she  would  have  felt  if 
173 


DORAS T US 

Dorastus's  father  had  suddenly  ceased  from 
his  persecutions  and  she  had  known  by  that 
sign  that,  worm  as  he  was,  he  had  ceased  to 
care  for  her. 

"  This  is  all  very  well ;  but  when  you  get 
to  school — "  Phrases  begun  on  that  line 
became  frequent  in  Dorastus's  ear  as  the 
time  approached.  He  heard  them  with  a 
singularly  bright  eye. 

The  two  boys  set  out  for  school  together, 
under  the  guardianship  of  the  tutor.  Con 
sternation  fell  on  the  family  when  it  was 
known  that  Dorastus  had  been  missed  on 
the  way.  The  boy  was  traced  to  London ; 
there  he  was  easily  lost  among  the  millions 
of  its  inhabitants. 

While  the  question  was  in  discussion 
whether  it  behooved  Gregory  himself  to  travel 
to  London  and  institute  a  search  for  the 
runaway,  came  a  letter  from  the  boy,  making 
it  easily  decent  for  his  step-father  to  leave 
the  stinging  weed  to  get  its  growth  where  it 
might  without  being  a  nuisance,  and  recon 
ciling  his  mother  to  letting  him  take  his 
chances  as  he  pleased,  since  he  was  so  sure 
174 


D  O  R  A  S  T  U  S 

they  were  brilliant  —  very  brilliant,  those 
chances. 

His  certainty  of  himself,  his  enthusiasm, 
were  such  that  gradually  they  communicated 
themselves  in  a  degree  to  her.  Why  not? 
After  all,  his  father,  they  had  said,  was  a 
great  man  ;  princes  had  honored  him.  An 
involuntary  respect  crept  through  her  for 
Dorastus's  daring.  It  seemed  advisable  at 
least  to  give  him  the  opportunity  he  wanted  ; 
the  more  that  the  process  of  finding  him, 
bringing  him  back  in  what  to  him  would 
seem  ignominy,  and  thereafter  keeping  watch 
over  him,  was  uncomfortable  to  think  of. 

His  letter  was  to  his  mother,  a  mixture  of 
boyishness  and  manliness,  more  frank  than 
any  speech  she  had  had  from  him  in  a  long 
time.  It  vaguely  stirred  her  heart ;  for  it 
seemed  to  restore  to  her  something  that  pos 
sessing  she  had  not  prized,  but,  careful  econ 
omist,  did  not  like  to  think  lost. 

"You  must  promise  that  I  shall  not  be 

troubled  by  any  attempt  to  get  me  back.     I 

will  do  anything   terrible  if  I  am   trapped. 

Don't  you  see  that  I  couldn't  go  to  school 

175 


DORASTUS 

with  Hector,  who  is  younger  ?  We  should  be 
put  in  classes  together,  for  a  while  at  least, 
and  I  couldn't  stand  it.  Besides,  I  haven't 
the  time,  I  have  so  much  to  do !  Besides,  I 
couldn't  go  on  living  with  those  people  for 
ever.  I  don't  mean  that  you  shall,  either.  I 
won't  tell  you  all  now,  but  after  a  time  you 
may  know  that  there  is  to  be  a  house  much 
better  than  theirs  for  you  to  live  in,  with  me. 
You  shall  have  everything  much  better.  But 
I  will  not  tell  you  more.  Only,  you  can  be 
perfectly  sure  of  it.  You  will  not  think  that 
I  came  away  without  caring  about  leaving 
you.  I  was  afraid  you  would  guess  some 
thing  if  I  hugged  you  before  them  as  I 
wanted  to,  but  I  had  been  to  your  room  in 
the  night,  and  any  of  your  gowns  you  put  on 
is  full  of  your  son's  kisses.  If  I  thought  you 
would  show  this  letter,  I  think  that  I  should 
never  in  my  life  write  you  again.  If  you 
should  send  me  any  money,  I  should  return 
it  at  once  or  destroy  it,  so  please  don't  do  it, 
it  would  make  me  angry.  I  know  that  we 
had  nothing  when  we  came  to  their  house, 
except  the  violin.  One  of  the  servants  told 
176 


DORASTUS 

me  how  we  came.  What  do  you  suppose 
keeping  me  all  these  years  has  cost  ?  When 
I  can,  I  mean  to  give  them  double ;  you  can 
tell  him  so,  if  you  choose.  I  can't  now,  but 
what  I  can  do  is  to  take  nothing  more  from 
them.  You  need  not  be  anxious  about  me. 
I  am  prepared,  because  I  have  long  known 
what  I  meant  to  do,  and  I  can  take  care  of 
myself.  I  have  met  several  persons  already 
who  know  of  my  father;  it  seems  to  be  some 
thing  here  to  be  his  son,  though  not  at  home, 
except  to  one  man,  and  he  a  hostler.  Well, 
I  will  show  them — you,  too,  dear  mother.  I 
don't  mean  to  vex  or  grieve  you,  mother, 
dear.  If  I  have  vexed  you,  I  know  I  shall 
make  you  forgive  me  some  day,  before  long, 
perhaps,  when  I  shall  have  made  you  under 
stand.  You  can  write  me  at  the  Tartar's 
Head,  but  if  you  hunted  me  there,  or  infor 
mation  concerning  me,  you  would  never  find 
me,  I  vow." 

Other  letters  came   from   time   to   time, 

written  in  fine  spirits  always,  referring,  but 

mysteriously,  to  fine  successes.     Emmie  felt 

a  certain  modesty  about  these  letters.     She 

M  177 


D  O  R  A  S  T  U  S 

communicated  what  was  in  them  with  re 
serve,  and  adopted  towards  inquirers  the  tone 
of  discretion  that  the  letters  had  with  her 
self.  But  she  found  herself  often  brooding 
over  the  contents.  They  charmed  the  im 
agination  ;  they  sounded  like  things  one 
read.  It  was  so  remarkable,  this  circumstance 
of  a  poor  boy,  a  boy  of  her  own,  arriving  in 
a  great  city,  with  little  but  his  violin,  and  by 
sounds  merely  forcing  the  things  one  values 
to  come  to  him,  as  he  had  spoken  fancifully 
once,  she  remembered,  of  making  a  flock  of 
rabbits  follow  him  into  the  woods.  He  wrote 
little  very  definite,  but  dropped  telling  hints 
of  how  he  had  played  before  this  great  man 
and  that  man  of  importance,  and  this  one  had 
said — the  other  had  promised.  He  had  been 
called  upon  to  perform  at  a  certain  levee,  and 
out  of  his  fee  had  bought  the  things  he  was 
sending  ;  he  had  money  to  spare.  And  there 
came  a  parcel  of  presents  for  Emmie  and  the 
little  girls,  by  which  all  were  greatly  impress 
ed.  Dorastus's  rank  in  the  memory  of  his 
family  rose  a  degree.  Now,  on  looking  back, 
each  knew  that  he  had  always  foreseen  how, 
178 


D  O  R  A  S  T  U  S 

with  that  powerful  will,  Dorastus  must  be 
able  to  hew  his  way  through  difficulties  and 
compel  circumstances  to  serve  him.  He  was 
looked  on  rather  as  a  man  than  a  boy,  even 
as  he  looked  on  himself.  His  mother  was 
grateful  to  him  for  seeming  to  efface  the 
weak  foolishness  out  of  her  first  marriage  : 
she  was  justified  in  her  latter  days,  and 
proved  a  virgin  full  of  good  sense.  She 
wrote  Dorastus  encouraging  letters.  Her 
good  words  got  glowing  answers:  surely  it 
would  not  be  long ;  he  was  working  with  all 
his  might.  But  they  must  be  patient,  for 
success  as  a  material  recompense  was  slow ; 
and  he  hinted  with  the  effect  of  a  sigh  at 
rivalries,  at  the  density  of  the  public  mind. 
Yet  talent  must  inevitably  triumph  in  the 
end  and  manly  effort  meet  its  reward. 

When  Hector  came  home  for  his  holidays 
he  found  it  just  a  little  stupid  to  have  been 
a  good  boy.  The  personage  in  the  general 
mind  seemed  to  be  his  undisciplined  half- 
brother.  He  contrived,  however,  in  the 
course  of  weeks,  to  fix  a  good  deal  of  atten 
tion  on  himself.  He  restored  the  balance  to 
179 


DORASTUS 

his  mother's  mind.  Dorastus  sank  into  his 
natural  place  in  relation  to  her  other  children. 
She  waited  in  serene  patience  —  sometimes 
with  a  passing  touch  of  scepticism,  the  reflec 
tion  of  some  outsider's  attitude,  oftener  with 
childish  perfection  of  faith — for  the  develop 
ments  he  announced  in  letters  somewhat  de 
creasing  in  frequency,  but  preserving  their 
early  tone  of  hopefulness. 

So  time  passed.  The  unusual  became  the 
usual  and  lost  consideration,  according  to  its 
habit. 

Then  the  sisters-in-law,  those  perfect 
daughters,  mothers,  and  wives,  came  to  visit 
the  head  of  the  house  in  the  home  of  their* 
girlhood.  They  brought  maids  and  children 
and  chattels  manifold. 

Now  these  ladies  had  been  in  London,  and 
Emmie  heard  much  from  them  of  the  glories 
and  greatness  of  that  city ;  she  had  long  op 
portunity  to  learn  respect  for  their  manners 
and  gowns,  which  alike  came  from  there. 
They  had  not  happened  upon  Dorastus  ;  they 
could  not  remember  hearing  of  him,  and  as 
that  seemed  to  make  it  plain  to  Emmie  they 

i  So 


D  O  R  A  S  T  U  S 

had  not  been  in  the  most  polite  places,  they 
explained  that  the  city  was  so  large  and  pop 
ulous  you  might  not  come  across  a  person  in 
a  lifetime. 

They  left  on  a  rainy  autumn  morning. 
Emmie,  with  her  forehead  against  the  glass, 
watched  their  carriages  dwindling,  dwindling. 
Gone,  with  all  their  patterns  for  gowns,  with 
the  last  sweet  thing  in  worsted-work ;  gone, 
with  their  fashionable  conversation,  the  art 
of  which  she  had  not  had  quite  time  yet  to 
master.  But  even  if  she  had  become  perfect 
in  all,  as  they,  of  what  use  could  it  have  been 
to  her  here?  she  asked,  turning  from  the 
dripping  window-pane. 

She  moved  with  an  air  of  being  the  moon 
by  day.  The  sickness  of  the  decaying  year 
seemed  to  have  got  into  her  blood ;  she  felt 
as  if  she  herself  were  the  perishing  summer, 
which  had  somehow  been  wasted.  She  said 
over  her  children's  ages  with  a  sort  of  terror, 
a  sense  of  time  having  stolen  a  march  on  her; 
she  was  vaguely  panic-stricken  to  think  there 
was  so  little  of  the  good  time  of  life  left  be 
fore  her.  She  sought  the  mirror  to  divert 

181 


DOR AST US 

her  mind  with  trying  on  again  the  bonnet 
the  sisters  had  bestowed  on  her,  pronouncing 
it  so  becoming.  Under  the  severe  gray  light 
the  face  she  saw  reflected  held  more  than 
ever  to  her  discontented  eyes  a  forecast  of 
the  cheerless  coming  days  when  the  rose 
should  be  withered,  the  gold  gone.  The 
deadly  quiet  of  the  country,  the  silence  of 
the  well-regulated  house,  suddenly  seemed  to 
her  an  outrage,  a  roof  incontrovertible  that 
no  one  cared  what  happened  to  her.  Greg 
ory  in  particular  did  not  care.  Else  would 
he  not  have  comprehended  that  movement 
and  novelty  and  gayety  alone  could  at  this 
pass  save  her  from  the  insidious  oncreep- 
ing  evil  that  encouraged  hard  lines  between 
the  pale  cheek  and  the  drooping  mouth? 
Clearly  he  did  not  care.  He  cared  for 
nothing  but  not  to  be  disturbed  after  din 
ner.  In  this  connection  she  thought  over 
many  a  subtle  wrong  she  had  been  putting 
up  with  for  years.  She  thought  of  Do- 
rastus,  from  whom  this  husband,  with  his 
royal  indifference,  allowed  her  to  be  so  long 
separated ;  Dorastus,  who  as  she  looked  to 
182 


DORAS T US 

him,  turning  from  the  lukewarm,  apathetic 
tribe  surrounding  her,  seemed  an  embodi 
ment  of  swiftness  and  strength,  a  tempered 
steel  blade  to  rely  on,  a  flame  at  which  to 
warm  the  numb  hands  of  the  heart.  Ah, 
well,  he  was  making  a  home  for  her  with  him, 
yonder  in  the  living  city.  She  lost  sight  of 
the  mirror  into  which  she  was  staring;  she 
saw  that  home.  Suddenly  it  seemed  to  her 
she  could  not  live  longer  without  seeing  her 
boy.  She  rose  with  the  energy  of  true  in 
spiration.  It  was  such  an  obviously  legiti 
mate  desire,  this  desire  to  behold  again  her 
own  flesh  and  blood,  that  she  need  not  be 
at  pains  to  fabricate  palliation  or  excuse  for 
it.  She  sought  Gregory  directly.  She  was 
weary  and  ill,  she  had  dreams  at  night,  he 
did  not  know  how  hard  her  life  had  become. 
She  wanted  to  see  Dorastus. 

Gregory  yielded. 

They  came  to  London.  They  took  rooms 
at  a  quiet  hotel  known  to  him  of  old. 

The  novelty  of  all,  the  anticipation,  made 
Emmie  feel  young  again.  Her  violet  eyes 
were  still  childishly  clear,  her  hair  was  pretty 
183 


D  O  R  A  S  T  U  S 

still ;  little  was  missed  of  the  beauty  of  her 
youth  but  its  slender  lightness. 

"  No,  no ;  you  must  leave  it  all  to  me," 
she  said,  when  Gregory  would  have  accom 
panied  her  in  her  search  for  Dorastus.  "  I 
have  a  clue  which  I  will  not  betray.  He  has 
shown,  dear  fellow,  that  he  might  be  trusted 
to  take  care  of  himself.  I  will  bring  him 
home  to  dine  with  us.  You  may  take  seats 
for  the  pantomime." 

So  the  good  Gregory  put  her  in  the  care  of 
a  trusted  driver,  and  saw  her  started  on  her 
adventure. 

Now  she  was  driven  —  it  seemed  to  her 
they  were  hours  on  the  way — to  the  Tartar's 
Head,  a  coffee-house  of  not  very  imposing 
appearance,  in  a  crowded  part. 

Before  reaching  her  destination  she  almost 
wished  she  had  let  Gregory  come  :  it  was  so 
noisy ;  the  air  was  so  dingy  it  deadened 
one's  spirits  despite  wealth  of  delightful 
prospects ;  and  she  must  face  various  un 
known,  perhaps  unfriendly,  faces  before  find 
ing  his  face — after  which  all  would  be  well. 

She  descended  from  the  carriage  with  a 
184 


DORASTUS 

little  flutter,  then  with  the  haste  of  rout  got 
into  it  again,  and  requested  the  driver  to 
bring  some  one  to  her,  as  if  she  had  been  a 
great  person. 

A  young  man  came  out  to  take  her  com 
mands,  a  well-oiled  young  man  in  side- 
whiskers  and  a  broad  shirt-front. 

Had  not  letters  been  received  there  ad 
dressed  to  so-and-so  ? 

The  young  man  was  more  than  polite. 
Inquiries  were  made.  Such  letters  had  been 
received.  The  person  to  whom  they  were 
addressed  called  for  them. 

"  I  am  his  mother,"  said  Emmie,  lamely, 
for  she  had  prepared  another  course  than 
this  simple  one,  a  course  involving  strategy. 
"Does  he  not  live  here?  Where  does  he 
live?" 

The  young  man  continued  very  obliging. 
He  made  further  inquiries  and  came  back 
looking  a  little  blank.  The  person  came  him 
self  and  left  no  direction  for  forwarding  his 
letters ;  a  letter  had  once  been  waiting  sev 
eral  weeks. 

"  Does  no  one  here  know  him?"  asked  his 
185 


DORAS T US 

mother,  nearly  in  tears.  Of  a  sudden  this  city 
seemed  to  her  terribly  large,  and  terribly  full 
of  people  who  cared  nothing  for  any  distress 
of  hers.  "  He  plays  on  the  violin — he  plays 
very  beautifully  on  the  violin." 

A  possibility  of  intelligence  dawned  in  the 
obliging  young  man's  face,  and  he  ran  in 
doors  again.  He  came  back  with  a  hopeful 
air.  "Yes,  your  ladyship.  There  is  an  old 
man  belonging  to  the  place  knows  him.  He 
took  him  a  letter  once  when  he  couldn't 
come  himself,  being  laid  up.  He  didn't 
want  to  tell  at  first,  saying  how  he'd  sworn. 
But  I  let  him  know  your  ladyship  was  the 
young  man's  mother,  and  he  told.  It's  a 
bit  far." 

The  waiter  stepped  up  to  the  coachman 
and  gave  him  instructions.  Emmie  reward 
ed  his  obligingness  with  bounty  in  propor 
tion  to  her  relief  at  all  proving  so  easy.  Of 
course  some  one  knew  him.  It  was  part  of 
his  boyishness  to  suppose  he  could  hide, 
after  his  light  had  begun  shining  through 
the  bushel,  too. 

She   looked   out  through  the  misty  pane 

1 86 


DORASTUS 

at  the  bright  passing  shop-windows ;  there 
seemed  to  her  thousands  in  a  row,  and  hun 
dreds  of  carriages  rolling  along  with  her. 
She  liked  the  city  again  exceedingly,  and 
was  glad  to  hope  she  might  be  there  often 
after  a  time ;  it  was  so  various,  it  put  life 
into  one.  If  only  the  murky  cloud  would 
lift  that  rested  on  the  chimney-tops,  and  the 
rain  stop  making  more  the  gray  slime  on  the 
flags. 

It  was  a  long  distance.  She  looked  out 
until  she  was  tired  and  confused  ;  then  leaned 
back  and  meditated  pleasantly  for  a  time, 
then  looked  out  again,  with  a  little  shock  of 
disappointment  at  seeing  no  more  bright 
windows. 

They  were  going  more  slowly ;  the  streets 
here  were  narrow,  the  air  seemed  dingier,  the 
houses  and  people  looked  miserable. 

She  watched  with  a  saddened  interest 
these  that  she  fixed  upon  as  the  poor  city- 
people  in  their  poor  quarters.  She  was  sorry 
for  them,  but  she  would  be  relieved  when 
they  were  left  behind  for  the  gayer  thorough 
fares,  or  the  roomier,  more  cheerful  suburbs. 
187 


DORASTUS 

Now  at  the  entrance  of  a  narrow  court  the 
carriage  stopped.  She  wondered  what  could 
be  hindering  its  progress,  and  fidgeted  while 
the  coachman  left  his  box  and  came  to  the 
door.  He  opened  it  with  a  stolid  face  and  held 
his  finger  to  his  hat,  waiting  for  her  to  alight. 

"But  —  but"  —  she  stammered,  eying  the 
poverty-stricken  appearance  of  the  place, 
"  this  cannot  be  it !" 

"  The  directions  were  clear,  ma'am ;  I've 
followed  them,"  said  the  man,  with  respectful 
firmness.  "  This  is  as  near  as  I  can  get  to  the 
house ;  there's  no  room  to  turn  around  in 
the  court." 

Emmie  leaned  back  a  moment,  determined 
not  to  stir  from  her  cushions — the  mistake 
was  on  the  face  of  it  too  stupid. 

The  coachman  stood  waiting,  a  man  of 
patience  carved  in  wood.  Emmie  eyed  him 
helplessly ;  then,  seeing  that  the  imposing 
creature  would  be  satisfied  with  no  less  from 
her,  with  the  abruptness  of  impatience  she 
alighted, and  rustled  into  the  dark  court,  peer 
ing  upward  for  the  number. 

There  it  was.     She  knocked,  and  listened, 

iSS 


DORAS T US 

with  a  heart  in  which  strange  things  seemed 
to  be  happening.  To  the  capless  woman 
who  opened  she  stammered  a  name,  looking 
for  the  relief  of  being  told  instantly  that 
none  of  that  name  lived  there. 

"  Three  pair  back,  ma'am,"  said  the  woman, 
who  appeared  like  a  cook,  actual,  past,  or 
potential.  "  But  he's  not  in.  There's  no 
telling  how  soon  he  will  come.  What  name 
did  you  say?  Drastuswhat?  Sibbie-mole? 
Oh  no,  ma'am.  Beg  pardon.  I  listened  as 
far  as  Drastus,  and  answered  because  it's 
such  a  curious  name.  Ours  name  is  Fenton. 
But,  let's  see.  What  manner  of  young  man 
might  yours  be  ?  Like  a  foreigner,  with  a 
large  nose  and  black  eyes,  and  plays  the 
fiddle,  and  wears  his  hair  long?  Dear  me, 
ma'am,  the  very  same !  His  room's  three 
pair  back.  You  wish  to  wait  for  him  ?  This 
way,  then,  ma'am." 

Emmie,  in  whom  all  processes  of  thought 
had  stopped  in  amazement,  followed  the 
landlady  as  best  she  could  up  three  flights 
of  dark  stairs,  and  entered  through  the  door 
flung  open  for  her. 

189 


D  O  R  A  S  T  U  S 

They  stood  in  a  little  room  that  received 
the  day  through  a  sky-light.  Emmie  dropped, 
sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  narrow  bed  and 
knotted  her  little  gloved  fingers  together  in 
silence.  She  was  so  pale  that  the  landlady 
felt  alarmed  and  asked  if  she  were  feeling  ill. 
She  shook  her  head,  and  continued  looking 
about  fearfully  and  in  wonder. 

There  was  little  to  see,  nothing  that  might 
not  have  belonged  to  any  one  in  the  wide 
world  as  well  as  to  that  boy;  not  one  of  these 
sordid  appurtenances  reminded  her  of  him, 
except  the  music  on  the  table — but  any  fid 
dler  might  have  just  such  music. 

She  rose  to  her  feet  as  if  jerked  by  a  hid 
den  string,  and  walked  stiffly  towards  the 
door,  saying,  "  It  is  evidently  not  the  one. 
This  one's  name  is  Drastus  Fenton,  you  say. 
The  one  I  seek  is  Dorastus  Sibbemol.  Good- 
morning,  ma'am." 

But  near  the  door  she  stopped,  her  eyes 
widening  upon  an  object  set  upright  in  the 
corner — a  black  wooden  box,  very  old,  scarred 
and  worm-eaten,  mournfully  resembling  a 
child's  coffin. 

190 


DORAS T US 

She  went  back  to  the  bed,  and  limply 
leaned  against  the  wall.  She  stared  over  at 
the  box,  with  its  peculiar  wrought-iron  hinges 
and  handle. 

"Has  he  been  here  long?"  she  asked,  faintly, 
at  last,  of  the  blowzy  woman  who  was  looking 
at  her  with  some  concern,  and  at  the  same 
time,  in  view  of  the  lady's  respectability,  try 
ing  to  smooth  down  her  untidy  hair. 

She  thought  a  moment  and  judged  he 
might  have  been  there  half  a  year. 

Emmie  wrung  her  hands  in  an  aimless  way. 
She  felt  little  of  pain  as  yet,  or  indignation  ; 
only  vague  throes  and  convulsions  of  change, 
a  working  of  all  the  atoms  in  heart  and  brain 
trying  to  adjust  themselves  to  something 
new. 

"And  he  is  poor!"  she  murmured. 

"  Well,"  said  the  landlady,  exculpatingly, 
"we  are  all  poor  folks  here,  ma'am.  He 
mostly  pays  his  rent  —  I  don't  ask  much, 
but  when  he's  behind  I'm  not  hard  on  him. 
He's  a  good  lad,"  she  went  on,  and  as  she 
was  a  sizable  woman,  after  a  gesture  of  defer 
ential  apology  she  took  a  seat,  to  support  her 
191 


DORASTUS 

in  her  view  of  lingering  to  angle  with  infor 
mation  until  she  caught  a  little  enlightenment. 
"  A  good  lad,  but  that  proud !  He  thinks  he'll 
be  as  rich  as  a  dook  some  day,  with  his  little 
fiddle!"  She  shook  her  head  in  compassion 
and  chuckled  fatly  over  a  household  joke  of 
long  standing.  "  He's  all  right  in  his  head, 
ma'am,  except  on  that  point.  A  poor  lad 
that  plays  in  the  streets  is  none  so  likely  to 
pick  up  a  fortune.  And  such  tunes  as  he 
plays!  I've  always  been  told  I'd  an  uncom 
mon  ear  for  a  catch,  but  to  catch  head  or  tail 
of  them  is  beyond  me !" 

"  He  plays  in  the  streets !" 

"Yes,  poor  Dook — come  rain,  come  shine. 
Sometimes  he  has  a  good  day,  sometimes  a 
bad  one ;  but  times  is  hard — it's  not  very  good 
at  best.  He's  not  one  of  them  pretty-impu 
dent  Italian  boys  with  wheedling  brown  vel 
vet  eyes.  He  looks  too  scornful,  and  despises 
folks  more  than  is  for  his  own  good.  I  have 
felt  hurt  at  it  myself,  ma'am,  and  I  may  say 
I'm  not  touchy.  When  I've  known  that  he 
was  a  bit  hard  up  and  he  looked  hollow,  and 
I've  asked  him  in  neighborly  to  have  a  bite 
192 


D  O  R  A  S  T  U  S 

with  us,  he  has  answered  me  almost  as  if  he 
hated  me  for  it — and  gone  hollow." 

His  mother  drew  in  her  breath  sharply. 

"  Might  you  be  a  friend  of  his  ?"  asked  the 
landlady.  "  Once  when  he  was  sick  abed, 
and  I  came  up  to  say  a  good  word,  he  got 
sociabler  than  usual,  and  spoke  of  a  lady, 
a  lady  of  quality,  who'd  heard  him  play — I 
thought  likely  it  was  before  he  came  here 
with  his  coat  so  seedy— a  lady  who  thought 
he  was  very  fine.  Perhaps  I  don't  understand 
about  fiddle-playing,  and  he  is  all  he  says. 
Might  you  be  the  lady?" 

"Yes,  yes,  yes!"  said  Emmie,  scarcely 
knowing  what  she  said. 

The  landlady  looked  much  interested. 
"  Well,  now,  I  thought  as  much,  for  I  don't 
think  he's  any  one  in  the  world  belonging  to 
him.  He's  a  good  lad,  ma'am,"  she  said 
again,  with  a  good-natured  impulse  to  make 
hay  for  a  fellow-creature  while  this,  possibly 
a  sun,  was  shining.  "  He  deserves  better 
than  he  gets,  if  I  do  say  it.  He  works  at 
them  music -books  for  hours  sometimes,  at 
night,  till  the  man  below  is  fit  to  go  mad. 

N  I93 


DOR ASTUS 

But  I  tell  him  I  can't  put  out  a  lodger  that 
pays  more  frequent  than  he,  and  when  I 
speak  to  Drastus  he  says  he'll  leave,  though 
he  should  have  to  sleep  on  the  pavement — 
he  must  play  when  he  pleases.  He  says 
that  it's  because  he  can't  play  as  other  fiddle- 
men  do,  from  a  book  and  in  a  particular  way, 
that  he  can't  get  nothing  to  do  but  play  in 
the  streets.  So  lie  must  learn,  and  learn  he 
will,  and  he  scrapes  away  like  a  meeting  of 
cats  on  the  roof.  I'm  sorry  he's  out,  ma'am. 
What  did  you  want  with  him,  now  ?  Couldn't 
I  give  your  message — or  must  you  wait  your 
self?" 

"  I  will  wait — I  will  wait." 

"  He  may  not  be  home  till  night.  He 
sometimes  even — " 

"  Oh,  leave  me,  my  good  woman !"  moaned 
Emmie.  "  What  else  can  I  do  but  wait  ?" 

And  the  landlady,  taking  pity  on  what 
seemed  to  her  an  inordinate  perturbation  of 
spirit,  left  the  visitor  to  herself,  returning 
now  and  then  to  listen,  and  bringing  up  once 
an  inquiry  from  the  coachman. 

Emmie  remained  sitting  on  the  edge  of 
194 


D  O  R  A  S  T  U  S 

the  bed.  After  a  time  she  rose  and  looked 
with  pointless  minuteness  at  everything  in 
the  room,  opening  every  drawer  and  reading 
every  paper.  She  found  all  her  letters  tied 
in  a  bundle  and  wrapped  in  a  silk  necker 
chief  of  her  own,  old,  and  that  she  had  never 
missed.  He  had  few  possessions,  and  they 
made  the  heart  sick  to  pore  over. 

The  light  faded  off  the  dull  glass  overhead. 
With  chilled  fingers  she  felt  for  the  candle 
and  lighted  it.  The  landlady,  coming  up  at 
dark,  insisted  on  bringing  her  a  cup  of  tea. 
The  good  creature  had  so  disciplined  her 
curiosity  concerning  the  history  implied  in 
this  gentlewoman's  presence  here  that  her 
delicacy  now  in  endeavoring  to  discover  was 
touching.  Yet  it  went  unrewarded.  She 
stayed  for  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  lady, 
who  she  thought  looked  fairly  ill,  refresh  her 
self  ;  and  when  it  was  delayed,  tried  by  ex 
ample  to  institute  in  the  atmosphere  that 
cheerfulness  which  is  conducive  to  a  better 
appetite — until  asked  again,  with  an  implor 
ing  glance  from  eyes  like  a  shot  dove's,  to  go, 
for  the  sake  of  pity  to  go. 


U  O  R  A  S  T  U  S 

Emmie  now  took  down  the  few  clothes 
she  had  seen  on  the  hooks,  with  a  vague  idea 
that  they  required  mending.  She  spread 
them  out  over  her  lap  one  by  one,  and  passed 
her  hand  mechanically  over  the  threadbare 
places  where  the  black  was  green,  over  cer 
tain  fringes  about  the  holes,  her  heart  feeling 
extraordinarily  large  and  empty  and  silent. 
The  rings  on  her  cold  hand  glittered  in  the 
stroking  movement,  four  rich  rings  with 
various  stones,  Gregory's  gifts.  Four — but 
she  had  five  children. 

She  stretched  herself  suddenly  on  the  bed 
with  her  face  in  the  old  coat,  the  chill  of  the 
room  slowly  seizing  upon  her  as  she  lay.  She 
prayed  in  a  distant,  half-conscious  way,  with 
out  the  least  illusion  that  such  words  could 
persuade  any  one,  for  God  to  unmake  every 
thing  that  had  happened  to  her,  to  let  her 
have  died,  and  Dorastus  too,  at  his  very  birth ; 
for  them  to  have  both  been  lying  in  the  re 
mote  Dutch  God's-acre  these  many  years. 
For  one  fleeting  moment  memory  gave  back 
to  her  perfect  an  impression  never  before  re 
called.  She  seemed  to  have  been  roused 
196 


DORASTUS 

from  a  stupor  deeper  than  sleep  ;  her  eyes 
dwelt  without  wonder  on  what  she  thought 
to  be  a  cathedral,  with  colored  windows  ablaze 
— it  dwindled,  until  it  was  a  mere  night-light 
glimmering.  Then  shadowy  people  placed  a 
little  bundle  in  her  arms.  She  tingled  as  an 
instrument  whose  every  string  is  touched,  a 
coolness  rippled  from  her  head  to  her  feet, 
she  knew  a  state  never  known  before  or  since, 
a  sense  of  unlimited  wealth,  a  tenderness  in 
effable,  a  trembling  outgoing  of  all  her  being 
to  this  handful  of  life.  She  heaved  a  great, 
faint  sigh,  and  with  effort  unspeakable  bent 
till  her  lips  were  pressed  as  to  a  warm  rose- 
leaf.  She  sank  to  sleep,  weak  unto  death, 
but  blissfully  happy — waking  stronger  and 
in  a  different  mood. 

She  wished  she  might  not  have  waked,  but 
been  buried  with  her  poor  first  baby  in  her 
arms,  having  ceased  to  be  in  the  single  mo 
ment  wherein  she  completely  loved  it.  Noth 
ing  that  had  happened  to  her  since  then 
seemed  to  her  sweet ;  all  was  sicklied  through 
by  the  consciousness  of  a  crime  gone  before 
and  daily  confirmed,  a  woman's  most  mon- 
197 


DORASTUS 

strous,  miserable  crime — not  loving  enough. 
Nothing  could  make  her  withered,  yellowed, 
cheapened  life  right  now — she  should  have 
died  at  that  moment.  She  said  this  over  and 
over  again  to  the  powers  that  hear  us,  until 
all  meaning  had  faded  from  it.  She  started, 
with  a  sense  of  something  going  out — she 
thought  it  must  be  the  candle  and  she  should 
be  left  in  the  dark.  She  sat  up,  frightened 
and  freezing. 

The  candle  was  burning  quietly.  Then,  as 
she  scrutinized  the  shadows  ahead,  loath  to 
stir,  she  became  aware  of  her  rings  having 
grown  loose,  they  were  in  danger  of  dropping 
off;  of  her  clothes  having  grown  loose,  they 
let  the  cold  in  under  them  ;  she  felt  a  prick 
ling  at  the  temples,  as  if  it  were  the  gray 
creeping  through  her  hair ;  she  felt  her  feat 
ures  becoming  pinched  and  old,  beauty  drop 
ping  from  them  like  a  husk.  She  wanted  to 
cry  then  with  a  childish  self-pity,  but  no  tears 
would  come ;  she  did  not  know  how  to  start 
the  flood  that  she  longed  for  to  relieve  her. 
She  felt  that  she  could  only  have  screamed. 

She  got  up  to  rid  herself  of  this  congeal- 
198 


DORASTUS 

ment,  and  paced  the  room  from  corner  to 
corner  with  sweeping  black  gown  that  told 
of  the  dusty  things  it  had  that  day  brushed. 

Company  had  come  to  the  man  below; 
they  were  making  a  great  deal  of  very  jolly 
noise.  The  candle  guttered  drearily;  a  reek 
of  warm  cabbage  climbed  up  the  stairway  to 
her  nostrils.  She  looked  up  on  hearing  a 
soft  tapping — the  black  sky-light  was  spat 
tered  with  silver  tears,  like  a  pall. 

She  walked  up  and  down,  waiting  and  lis 
tening,  everything  taking  more  and  more  the 
quality  of  a  dream  wherein  the  most  unnat 
ural  things  grow  ordinary.  She  had  felt  with 
a  numbed  sort  of  cowardly  loathing  that  ev 
ery  moment  brought  her  nearer  to  a  black 
stream  of  realizing  grief  and  remorse  into 
which  willy-nilly  she  must  descend  ;  but  now 
it  seemed  in  accordance  with  every  known 
law  that  she  should  be  here,  destined  to  go 
on  walking  so  forever,  never  arriving,  nor 
anything  ever  changing.  She  heard  herself 
say  aloud  in  a  light,  indifferent  tone,  "  He 
will  never  come.  He  will  never  come." 

For  a  moment  she  remembered  Gregory, 
199 


DORASTUS 

whose  image  seemed  to  rise  out  of  the  dim 
past :  Gregory  in  the  warm  light  of  the  hotel 
coffee-room,  where  dinner  was  set  on  a  little 
table  for  three,  dinner  with  wine-glasses  of 
two  shapes,  and  fruit  and  confectionery  in 
crystal  dishes.  The  thought  worked  upon 
her  as  a  sweet  smell  in  sea- sickness.  All 
that  had  to  do  with  Gregory  seemed  of  neg 
ative  importance ;  let  him  wait  and  wonder 
and  worry.  She  felt  hard-hearted  towards 
him  and  all  prosperous  things. 

A  burst  of  voices  reached  her  through  the 
floor;  they  were  rough  and  hoarse,  their 
mirth  had  turned  to  wrangling.  It  was  so 
horribly  lonely  here  !  If  they  were  suddenly 
possessed  to  climb  the  stairs,  to  burst  in 
upon  her !  There  was  a  crash  of  glass — she 
screamed;  then  a  laugh — she  shuddered — and 
the  noise  grew  less.  She  breathed  again,  but, 
feeling  her  knees  weaken,wentback  to  the  bed, 
and  sat  listening  in  fascination  for  the  mur 
muring  sounds  to  develop  again  into  a  quarrel. 

Suddenly,  without  the  warning  of  gradual 
ly  approaching  sounds  she  had  prepared  her 
self  for,  she  heard  footsteps  just  outside. 

200 


DORASTUS 

She  knew  them.  An  impulse  to  flee  seized 
her.  She  looked  about  for  a  place  to  hide 
in,  a  place  to  get  through,  to  jump  from. 
She  could  not  bear  to  see  him,  she  felt  as  a 
murderess  whose  victim's  ghost  is  upon  her. 
His  image  flashed  before  her,  pinched  with 
hunger  and  cold,  worn,  embittered  with  disap 
pointment,  terrible  with  its  long  unrequited 
love  turned  to  hatred — gray,with  glassy  eyes. 

She  looked  wildly,  but  she  could  not  move. 
Besides,  it  was  too  late,  a  hand  was  on  the 
door. 

As  it  opened,  a  deep  stillness  fell  upon 
her,  a  suspension  of  all. 

A  spell  seemed  to  snap  with  his  coming 
into  the  range  of  the  candle-light ;  it  was  as 
to  a  child  locked  all  night  in  a  graveyard  the 
cock-crow  that  lays  the  ghosts  and  heralds 
the  day.  She  took  a  feeble  breath  and  her 
heart  gave  a  warm  little  throb.  The  very 
face  !  only,  a  young  man's  face  rather  than  a 
boy's,  thinner  and  bolder  than  ever,  but, 
thank  Heaven!  not  pathetic,  not  heart-break 
ing — but  with  red  where  red  should  be,  with 
living  light  in  the  eyes. 

201 


DORASTUS 

He  held  his  violin;  he  was  meanly  clad, 
and  his  woollen  muffler  was  of  a  cheap  and 
dismal  tint  no  mother  would  have  chosen  for 
him. 

He  looked  in  surprise  at  the  lighted  can 
dle,  and  quickly  cast  his  eyes  about,  frown 
ing  to  see  who  had  taken  this  liberty.  He 
caught  sight  of  her,  blinked  and  narrowed 
his  eyes,  to  distinguish. 

She  could  not  make  a  sound,  or  bring  a 
vestige  of  expression  to  her  face,  or  lift  the 
pale  little  hands  from  her  black  lap — but  sat 
transfixed  under  his  questioning  stare. 

He  took  a  few  steps,  uttered  a  jubilant 
shout,  and  dashed  towards  her  with  out 
stretched  arms —  But  he  stopped  before 
reaching  her.  He  gave  a  glance  around  the 
horrible  little  room,  a  glance  at  her  face  with 
the  eyes  full  of  stern  sadness,  of  reproach  for 
the  many,  many  lies  he  had  told  her.  Ab 
ruptly  he  turned  his  back  to  her  and  dropped 
on  his  knees  beside  the  table,  saying  furious 
ly  in  disjointed  syllables  as  he  pressed  his 
working  face  against  his  arms.  "  You  won't 
understand !  You  never  understand  any- 

202 


D  O  R  A  S  T  U  S 

thing!  I  think  sometimes  that  you  are  a 
fool !" 

But  he  felt  her  soft  icy  hands  tremble 
about  his  head,  he  felt  her  fluttering  breath 
in  his  neck.  She  was  kneeling  beside  him, 
saying  in  choked  whispers  in  the  intervals  of 
lifting  her  poor  lips  from  his  wet  face,  "  Don't 
speak  ! — Don't  speak  !" 

She  was  straining  him  to  her  with  a  pas 
sionate  tenderness  never  shown  another  be 
ing,  raining  on  him  the  sweetest  kisses. 

Both  fell  to  crying  as  if  their  hearts  would 
break. 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 


To  make  you  acquainted  by  sight  with 
young  Chloris :  she  was  a  tall  girl,  a  trifle 
meagre  in  outline,  but  not  disagreeably  so; 
she  had  light  reddish -brown  hair,  and  a 
sprinkling  of  freckles  on  a  peachy  skin,  and 
those  eyes  with  dead-leaf  spots  in  them ;  al 
together  an  air  of  openness  and  intelligent 
goodness  that  had  quickly  thrown  the  newly 
introduced  off  the  question — was  she  pretty? 
But  she  was  pretty,  too,  at  her  hours. 

On  this  day  she  had  shut  out  the  sun  by 
means  of  the  green  Venetian  blinds,  and  her 
room,  like  a  submerged  crystal  chamber,  was 
full  of  a  watery  light ;  she  herself,  white 
clothed,  made  a  fair  green-shadowy  nymph 
in  the  dim  green  atmosphere. 

This  was  her  first  hour  of  complete  con- 
204 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

scious  content.  So  rich  was  she  in  content 
that  she  had  set  herself  to  perusing  a  volume 
of  the  dryest  essays,  a  present  for  a  diligent 
girl  graduate. 

This  sense  of  life  unfolding  like  a  normal 
flower  and  becoming  the  perfection  of  a  rose 
was  too  much  for  the  grateful  heart  to  con 
template  at  its  ease ;  some  great  demonstra 
tion  towards  God  must  follow  on  such  con 
templation.  And  Chloris  in  her  security 
putting  it  off  until  bedtime,sat  reading  about 
the  discipline  of  the  will,  the  happy  blood 
all  the  while  keeping  up  in  her  veins  a  pleas 
ant  undercurrent  babbling  of  other  matters. 
Two  hours  more  and  the  summer  sun  would 
be  reaching  its  glorious  haven,  the  cool  flow 
in  with  the  darkness,  and  time  take  up 
again  that  sweet  scanning  of  the  lines  of  her 
idyl 

After  reading  the  same  passage  some 
seven  times,  Chloris  let  her  book  lie  a  mo 
ment  in  her  lap.  How  marvellous,  how 
simple,  how  natural,  how  exquisite  !  Truly 
like  the  coming  up  of  a  flower.  First,  they 
were  children  together,  fair-dealing,  un- 
205 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

quarrelsome  playmates  ;  then,  schoolboy 
and  schoolgirl,  always  good  unsentimental 
friends;  and  finally,  time,  passing  over  them, 
slowly  turned  them  to  lovers ;  for  this,  no 
question,  was  whither  they  were  tending: 
quiet,  undemonstrative,  unjealous,  faithful, 
devoted  lovers,  presently  married  people, 
and  by  and  by,  God  pleasing,  tenants  of  one 
same  grave.  And  this  sweetness  in  the 
heart,  this  best  of  all  earthly  goods,  God 
granted  it  to  the  humblest  of  his  creatures ! 
Why,  then,  were  so  many  dissatisfied  with 
this  dear  earth?  Why  were  some  on  it  in 
terested  in  the  discipline  of  the  will?  Ah, 
this  summer,  so  endearingly  begun,  to  be 
ended  so  —  and  Chloris,  in  a  confusion  of 
bliss,  almost  as  if  to  give  herself  a  counte 
nance  towards  herself,  took  up  her  book 
again,  finding  moonlight  and  wild  azaleas 
and  whippoorwills  between  the  lines,  a 
dappled,  singing  shingle,  a  golden  beach, 
velvet  winds  from  over  sea. 

The  sunshine  crept  off  the  window-square  ; 
a  sadness  instantly  invaded  the  room  ;  Chlo 
ris  jumped  up  to  open  the  blinds.     Time  to 
206 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

dress !  Then  she  did  her  hair  as  painstak 
ingly  as  ably,  put  on  a  just -ironed  white 
gown  with  a  violet  figure,  and  stood  at  the 
glass  weighing  the  question  of  a  velvet  band 
around  the  neck.  A  fateful  sound  already 
was  dawning  on  the  distance  outside,  but 
she  did  not  as  yet  hear  it.  Too  hot !  She 
tossed  the  velvet  ribbon  in  the  top  bureau- 
drawer  so  unconcernedly  as  if  not,  at  that 
moment,  the  Parcae  had  been  tangling  the 
skein  of  her  life,  and  wondered  idly  if  any 
one  describing  her  would  call  her  pretty. 
She  thought,  in  conscience,  not ;  but  of  a 
charming  appearance,  she  hoped  any  one 
would. 

At  this  point  penetrated  to  her  brain  a 
sound  of  voices  out  on  the  road  beyond  the 
lawn  and  the  hedge.  She  looked  between 
the  curtains. 

Two  ladies,  unknown  to  her,  were  slowly 
sauntering  past  in  the  direction  of  the  beach  ; 
one,  near  middle  age,  in  a  darkish  gown  ;  the 
other,  young,  in  light  colors  of  a  distinctly 
fashionable  tone  ;  this  latter  carried  over  her 
shoulder  a  very  large,  fluffy,  and,  as  it  showed 
207 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

even  at  this  distance,  inexpressibly  costly 
parasol.  She  turned  her  face  a  moment 
on  the  ancient  vine-overclambered  country, 
house,  from  one  window  of  which  peeped 
Chloris,  looked  it  up  and  down  and  across, 
and  turned  away,  making,  Chloris  supposed, 
some  comment  upon  it  to  her  companion. 

When  they  had  disappeared  from  sight, 
Chloris,  still  at  the  window,  musing  on  that 
face  seen  a  moment,  heard  a  leisurely  jing 
ling,  and  saw  pass  at  a  walking  pace  an 
empty  shining  carriage,  drawn  by  two  superb 
bays,  driven  by  a  man  in  livery. 

"  It  must  be  their  turn-out,"  she  concluded 
her  wondering.  "  Who  can  they  be  but  the 
people  that  were  to  move  into  the  Beaure- 
gard  cottage  ?" 

Then,  as  there  was  time  to  spare  before 
tea,  she  sat  down  in  the  window.  Shortly, 
was  a  lively  jingling,  a  trampling,  and  the 
shining  carriage  bowled  swiftly  by  on  its  way 
back  from  the  beach ;  on  its  cushions,  two 
ladies  under  a  broad  lacy  parasol ;  a  mighty 
cloud  of  dust  running  after  it,  never  to  over 
take. 

208 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

Almost  at  the  same  moment  Chloris  saw 
Him,  half  the  subject  of  her  idyl,  coming 
across  the  lawn. 

She  went  to  meet  him. 

"  Who  are  the  arrivals  ?"  she  asked  at  once. 

And  here  was  pronounced,  for  the  first  time 
before  Chloris,  the  name  of  Cytherea. 

"Cytherea,  Damon?  Who  is  Cytherea? 
Where  does  she  come  from  ?  Do  you  know 
her?" 

"  Very  slightly,"  answered  the  young  man ; 
"  I  have  met  her  in  town.  She  had  told  me 
she  thought  of  coming  here  for  the  summer, 
but  I  supposed  it  was  conversation.  I  had 
completely  forgotten,  until  I  saw  her  this 
afternoon.  She  is  entranced  with  every 
thing!  You  can  never  see  our  poky  little 
old  place  in  its  true  light :  you  must  get  a 
description  of  it  from  her,  Chloris.  She  will 
find  it  deadly  dull  before  the  end  of  a  week ; 
but  for  the  moment  she  imagines  quiet  to  be 
all  she  wants.  She  has  been  working  like  a 
slave  at  doing  the  proper  thing  in  town." 

"  She  has  brought  her  style  with  her,  I 
see." 

o  209 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

"  They  are  inseparable.  She  arrived  yes 
terday  on  the  late  train,  and  you  should  see 
the  change  already  in  the  Beauregard." 

"  You  have  been  there,  then  ?" 

"  Just  a  moment.  They  called  to  me  from 
the  veranda.  They  were  having  tea.  Fancy 
their  bringing  down  a  grand-piano  !" 

"  Does  she  play  much  ?" 

11 1  don't  know.  Very  probably.  She 
looks  as  if  she  might." 

"Oh,  no,  Damon!  There  you  mistake. 
She  looks  as  if  she  mightn't.  She  is  very 
pretty,  but  I  will  vouch  for  it  she  can't 
play-" 

"  Perhaps  the  cousin  is  the  pianist.  We 
shall  see.  I  said  you  would  call  on  them 
this  evening." 

"I,  Damon?  The  instant  they  arrive? 
Why  did  you  say  that  ?  Why  should  I  call 
before  they  have  had  time  to  breathe?" 

"  Do  you  mind  ?  I  am  so  sorry.  They 
asked  me  to  come,  and  I  half  promised.  It 
is  likely  to  be  somewhat  slow  for  them  here 
if  we  stand  on  ceremony.  You  will  like  them, 
I  am  sure." 

210 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

"  You  are  sure  ?  No  doubt  I  shall.  But 
to-night  seems  rather — instantaneous,  if  you 
don't  mind.  You  will  excuse  me  to  them, 
and  I  will  wait  till  they  get  a  little  more 
settled." 

"  Settled  !  They  have  brought  down  an 
army  of  servants.  The  house  looks  as  if 
they  had  lived  in  it  for  a  month." 

"  Make  what  excuse  for  me  you  please, 
then." 

"You  won't  come,  Chloris?" 

"  I  think  not.  Not  this  evening.  Go  by 
yourself,  and  tell  me  all  the  great  changes 
to-morrow.  She  will  be  much  better  pleased 
to  see  you  than  me,  anyway." 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?" 

"  Her  face,  my  dear  boy !  She  can't  play 
the  piano,  to  speak  of,  and  she  greatly  pre 
fers  men  to  women." 

"  Perhaps  you  do  her  an  injustice — " 

"Have  I  said  anything  disparaging?  I 
signalled  two  virtues,  I  think.  You  don't 
really  mind  my  not  going,  Damon?  I  had 
intended  to  write  letters  this  evening,  and 
mend  table-cloths  and  read  to  father." 

211 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

When,  shortly  after  tea,  Damon  had  gone, 
Chloris  tried  to  return  herself  into  a  truthful 
person  by  reading  an  hour  to  her  father,  and 
adding  a  dozen  stitches  to  a  delicate  darn, 
and  writing  a  note,  which,  when  finished,  she 
tore  up.  In  order,  as  far  as  possible,  with 
her  conscience,  she  seated  herself  at  the 
piano,  a  poor,  tin-voiced  instrument,  tired  of 
the  sea -air.  No  one  so  well  as  Chloris, 
accustomed  to  its  senile  vagaries,  could 
make  the  worn  thing  discourse  music ; 
her  greatest  successes  on  it  were  old-time 
compositions  written  in  the  day  of  spinet 
and  harpsichord,  minuets  with  a  sprinkling 
of  grace-notes,  things  not  sonorous  or  pro 
found.  To-night,  playing  for  no  one's  praise, 
she  plunged  haphazard  into  the  melodies 
most  sympathetic  at  the  moment,  stormy 
and  subtle,  melancholy  and  intricate  and 
modern.  It  was  Chloris's  one  proud  gift, 
this  effectiveness  at  the  piano. 

Her  father  and  his  elderly  sisters  took 
themselves  off  to  bed  on  the  stroke  of  ten. 
Chloris  remained  on  the  adjustable  stool, 
relieved  at  their  going.  She  took  up  her 

212 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

playing  again,  without  trying  now  to  keep 
her  eyes  dry. 

The  sweet,  hot  air  of  the  day,  cooling,  was 
turned  to  dew  outside ;  something  of  the 
same  kind  seemed  taking  place  within  her 
self — and  the  dew  was  tears.  Why  had  she 
been  so  curiously  uplifted  that  day,  so  at  rest 
concerning  every  point  in  life,  so  sure  of  one 
thing  at  least?  Nothing  was  changed,  yet 
she  saw  no  reason  now  for  blessing  this  sum 
mer,  golden  hour  for  hour,  and  looking  to  it 
for  the  greatest,  serenest  happiness.  Damon  ? 
What  was  Damon  to  her,  or  she  to  Damon  ? 
He  had  never  in  so  many  words  made  love 
to  her,  and  she  had  never  felt  the  first  pang 
of  wonder  or  disappointment  at  this.  They 
had  walked,  rowed,  ridden  together.  What 
of  it?  They  should  do  these  things  again  a 
hundred  times,  probably.  What  of  that? 
What  had  she  been  dreaming,  erewhile  ? 
Or  was  this  the  dream,  this  bad  one?  Some 
thing  splendid  and  shining  and  purple  had 
gone  gray. 

While  continuing  mechanically  to  play, 
she  looked  through  the  open  window  into 
213 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

the  summer  night.  It  was  rightfully  her 
moon,  that  honeyed  bright  moon  outside  ; 
her  balm-breathing  night ;  it  was  her  silver 
sea  yonder,  out  of  sight ;  they  were  her 
odorous  pine-needle  paths  in  the  sighing 
grove — and  she  was  robbed  of  them.  And 
the  sense  of  it  gave  her  a  seething  in  the 
heart,  the  like  of  which  sensation  she  had 
never  dreamed  existed :  as  if  a  painful  sepa 
ration  of  all  the  atoms  in  it  one  from  the 
other,  as  well  as  the  stern  conviction  of  being 
— oh,  the  novel  idea  ! — a  fool. 

"  I  won't  have  it !"  she  muttered,  emphati 
cally,  without  knowing  definitely  what  she 
meant,  and  struck  an  angry  discord. 

Through  her  playing  reached  her  suddenly 
that  merry  harness -jingle  of  the  afternoon, 
approaching,  passing,  fading  away. 

"There  they  go — to  the  beach  for  the 
second  time  to-day  —  to  look  at  the  ocean 
by  light  of  the  moon." 

When  in  little  less  than  an  hour  she  heard 
the  breaking  again,  on  the  quiet  air,  of  the 
fatuous  silvery  jingle,  she  let  her  playing 
fall  to  a  mere  musical  murmur,  and  lis- 

2T4 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

tened,  acutely,  burning  all  the  while  with 
shame. 

"Go  slowly,  Humphrey,"  she  caught,  in  a 
rich,  sweet  voice;  "I  want  to  listen  to  the 
music." 

"  She  plays  really  wonderfully.  I  have 
never  heard  playing  I  preferred  to  hers," 
came  in  a  well  -  known  deeper  voice,  at 
which  Chloris's  cheeks  waxed  hotter  still. 
She  pressed  her  foot  on  the  pedal  and  shut 
herself  within  a  wall  of  dinning,  buzzing 
sound. 

When  she  had  lifted  it,  and  risen,  the  road 
was  empty,  the  night  silent,  but  for  the  crick 
ets  and  the  distant  surf,  as  the  grave. 

Several  days  passed,  each  bringing  Chloris 
its  very  natural  request  from  Damon  that 
she  would  go  with  him  to  pay  her  respects 
to  the  new  neighbors ;  but  with  a  perversity 
that  surprised  herself  more  livelily  than  him, 
she  daily  found  a  bad  reason  for  putting  off 
the  duty.  This  hindered  the  progress  of  the 
idyl;  for  Damon  had  a  delicate  conscience 
where  these  strangers  were  concerned ;  he 
215 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

would  not  see  them  bored  in  a  latitude  whose 
honor,  as  an  earlier  inhabitant,  he  appeared 
to  have  at  heart. 

And  presently  the  atmosphere  of  the  whole 
country-side  seemed  qualified  by  the  presence 
of  this  Cytherea.  It  seemed  to  Chloris  one 
could  not  escape  the  effect  of  her,  without 
taking  to  the  deepest  of  the  woods.  She 
was  like  an  unstopped  jar  of  some  powerful 
essence ;  the  little  country  world  was  redo 
lent  of  her. 

Before  the  time  Chloris  had  at  last  rigidly 
fixed  for  a  formal  visit  came  a  message  from 
Cytherea  inviting  her.  Hard  as  she  sought 
to  discover  a  reason  for  misliking  the  dainty 
note,  she  could  find  none ;  it  was  irreproach 
able,  and  Chloris  dressed  herself  for  the  oc 
casion  with  a  divided  mind,  the  preponder 
ant  part  of  which  was  finally  comfort :  she 
should  at  least  grapple  now  with  a  reality. 

She  came  to  Cytherea's  house  at  evening 
under  Damon's  escort.  As  one  approached 
it  among  the  trees  it  looked  rather  more  like 
one's  idea  of  an  Eastern  temple  than  a  sea- 
coast  cottage.  The  veranda  was  behung 
216 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

with  colored  paper  moons,  glowing  sub- 
duedly  among  the  vines;  soft  light  streamed 
through  lace  from  the  changed  interior. 

Excitement  took  Chloris  from  herself. 
Now  the  great  adversary  was  welcoming 
her;  and  Chloris,  at  the  touch  of. a  warm, 
soft  hand,  said  to  herself,  "  What  bugbear 
have  I  been  frightening  myself  with  ?"  and 
found  ease  and  ability  to  converse,  and 
release  from  that  sense  of  disadvantage  that 
had  ridden  her  helpless  heart  like  a  night 
mare. 

This  atmosphere  of  the  great  world  that 
went  with  Cytherea,  how  awakening,  how 
satisfying  after  all,  to  the  mind !  Not  the 
smallness  of  envy,  thought  Chloris,  should 
keep  her  from  giving  it  its  due,  or  getting 
her  benefit  from  it.  In  the  distance  and 
abstract  she  had  hated  it ;  but  entered  into, 
seen  close,  how  unconscious,  how  inoffensive, 
nay,  genial,  it  proved !  What  a  great  good, 
too,  this  wealth  that  permitted  such  distinc 
tion  in  luxury !  Country  girl  as  she  was,  it 
seemed  to  Chloris  she  was  breathing  her 
native  air.  , 

217 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

At  Cytherea's  prayer  she  sat  down  at  the 
piano,  and  to  her  own  surprise  played  better 
than  usual.  When  she  had  done,  she  begged 
the  hostess  to  play.  She  forgot  how  she 
had  declared  that  Cytherea's  face  showed  no 
soul  for  music. 

She  was  surprised  to  hear  the  lady  say, 
"  I  play  hardly  at  all."  She  sincerely  now 
could  not  believe  it. 

"  Ah,  well !"  laughed  Cytherea  ;  and  good- 
naturedly  she  pushed  a  chair  to  the  piano, 
and  appeared  preparing  to  begin. 

Chloris  looked  on  in  some  wonder.  Cy 
therea  seated  herself  half  away  from  the  key 
board,  one  nonchalant  arm  over  the  back  of 
her  chair,  her  curly  forehead  on  her  hand ; 
and,  the  first  to  smile  at  her  own  affectation, 
played  an  elaborate  waltz,  very  languidly, 
with  her  left  hand. 

Impossible  for  the  eyes  to  leave  her  a 
moment  while  she  performed  her  pretty 
trick ;  and  ably  enough  she  .performed  it, 
with  an  adorable  cream-white  hand. 

Chloris  seemed  to  be  slowly  .returning  to 
consciousness.  What  perfection  was  here ! 

2T8 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

Nature  had  given  this  creature  everything. 
Criticism  of  her  could  only  pass  current  un 
der  the  stamp  of  envy.  That  gracious  dark 
beauty,  that  warm  radiance  !  And  sparkle, 
and  charm — with  winningness,  dignity,  rarity, 
variousness ! 

Chloris  looked  over  at  Damon  ;  and  the 
image  of  his  fascinated  face,  as,  a  fond  for 
gotten  smile  on  his  lips,  he  followed  with  his 
dark  dog-eyes  each  movement  of  Cytherea's, 
affected  her  as  a  drop  of  poison  let  into  her 
blood.  She  seemed  to  herself  growing  aged 
and  haggard,  even  as  she  sat  there,  the  dan 
cing  measure  beating  on  her  ear.  Her  hands 
lay  cold  in  the  lap  of  her  best  gown — modest 
made-over  gown  of  pale  purplish  silk  that 
she  wore  with  a  lace  bertha  of  past  fashion, 
once  her  poor  mother's.  "  What  is  the  use 
of  trying  to  contend  with  a  thing  like  that?" 
her  heart  asked,  dully. 

An  acuter  pain  pierced  it  when,  the  waltz 
played  out,  the  laugh  following  it  laughed 
out,  and  conversation  resumed,  she  realized 
the  faintest  possible  shade  of  disregard  in 
Cytherea  for  the  observations  made  by 
219 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

Damon.  Cytherea  prized  her,  Chloris's, 
utterances  distinctly  more  ;  her,  she  seemed, 
from  all  her  manner,  to  be  honoring;  him, 
for  some  reason,  she  held  a  trifle  cheap. 
This  seemed  to  Chloris  just  a  little  more 
unendurable  than  all  the  rest.  And  the 
dear  boy,  who,  totally  ignorant  of  the  effect 
he  produced,  was  in  such  high  spirits,  was 
so  anxious  to  please,  so  cheerfully  making  a 
mantle  in  the  mud  of  himself  for  the  beauty 
to  tread  upon. 

At  last  it  was  over ;  Chloris  lay  in  her  own 
bed  in  the  pale  summer  darkness,  and  felt 
she  was  the  heart  of  the  created  world,  and 
this  pain  man's  old  inheritance ;  it  seemed 
the  very  essence  of  her  being  which  was  dis 
tilled  slowly  from  her  eyes. 

On  the  day  following,  Chloris  punctually 
sought  Cytherea,  for  appreciation  must  be 
shown  the  cordiality  of  the  beauty.  That 
was  a  question  apart  from  others :  one  is 
just  and  polite  before  anything  else.  A 
person  overhearing  the  chatting  and  laugh 
ing  of  that  afternoon  in  Cytherea's  room 

220 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

would  have  thought  certainly  he  listened  to 
a  pair  of  heart  friends.  The  greater  expense 
of  admiration  between  the  two  women 
seemed  of  a  truth  to  be  borne  by  Cytherea. 
Chloris  must  look  herself  mentally  over  in 
astonishment  at  this  value  set  on  her  by  so 
great  a  judge.  After  the  examination  she 
felt  foolish  and  humble.  She  felt  profoundly 
how,  all  being  different,  she  too  could  have 
worshipped  Cytherea. 

And  now  she  must  be  concerned  in  every 
sort  of  rural  festivity  organized  by  Damon 
for  Cytherea's  amusement  ;  she  must  see 
the  rival's  first  effect  of  being  mildly  bored 
by  Damon's  whole-souled  dedication  turn 
into  an  effect  of  indulgence,  daily  tinged 
with  increased  liking;  for  who  in  nature  could 
fail  to  do  final  justice  to  one  so  simple,  so  sin 
cere  as  Damon — Damon,  with  his  dear,  clear, 
curiously  gentle  Roman  face  and  curly  hair? 

"The  heat  does  not  seem  to  agree  with 
you  this  summer,  child,"  one  of  the  aunts 
concluded  her  kindly  meant  scrutiny  of 
Chloris's  face ;  and  the  girl's  heart  tightened 
with  affright. 

221 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

She  stood  that  day  before  the  glass,  and, 
leaning  her  elbows  on  the  bureau,  seriously 
examined  the  tinted  shadow.  "All  is  of 
no  use,"  she  said.  "  The  more  I  care,  the 
more  I  must  look  like  that.  Does  it  not 
seem  a  little  strange  that  the  more  one  loves 
the  less  lovely  one  should  become?  And  a 
little  hard,  too,  perhaps,  oh,  you,  my  God, 
with  all  respect,  who  have  arranged  these 
little  matters?"  And  tired,  discouraged 
Chloris  began  weakly  to  laugh  aloud,  though 
she  was  alone ;  and  watched  the  grimacing 
of  her  own  reflection  with  a  sort  of  brutal 
contemptuousness.  "  Oh,  you  sickening 
object !"  she  exclaimed,  and  hid  the  delicate, 
nervous,  tell-tale  face  in  her  hands.  "  This 
cannot  go  on !"  she  raved.  "  Human  flesh 
cannot  endure  it  —  and  I  cannot  alter  it. 
All  must  soon  see  how  it  is  with  me.  I  can 
barely  keep  a  hold  on  my  temper  now.  I 
must  get  away.  Damon  shall  court  her ; 
she  shall  bloom  and  smile  at  her  ease  for 
him.  Welcome  to  each  other  —  both!  I 
shall  be  where  I  cannot  see  it.  I  refused  to 
visit  Fidele  in  her  mountain  home.  I  had  a 

222 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

use  already — God  help  me  ! — for  every  hour 
of  the  summer.  I  will  write  to  say  I  repent. 
Then  Damon,  Cytherea,  sing  duets  out  in 
the  canoe  by  moonlight ;  find  clover-leaves 
for  each  other.  I  shall  be  scouring  the 
mountain  in  search  of  healing  herbs,  and  I 
do  not  doubt  but,  God  helping,  I  shall  find 
them.  It  is  not  in  nature  that  a  torture  like 
this  should  last!" 

And  Chloris,  when  next  she  appeared  be 
fore  the  public  eye,  looked  almost  trium 
phant.  And  when  her  leave  had  been  taken 
of  all,  and  the  swift  air  of  change  was  blowing 
against  her  brow,  her  heart  felt  so  strangely 
sound  and  quiet  that  she  almost  laughed, 
asking  herself,  "Why  am  I  going  away?  I 
am  recovered  merely  at  the  notion  of  it. 
Had  I  but  known,  I  could  have  remained 
like  a  little  heroine,  and  stood  it  out." 

But  the  hours  passing  broke  down  and 
carried  off  more  and  more  all  the  gallant 
props  of  pride  and  resolution,  and  at  last 
Chloris  sat  in  the  galloping  car,  a  drooping 
runaway,  who  looked  steadily  out  of  the  win 
dow,  and  saw  the  flying  scene  through  tears. 
223 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

Contemptible,  countrified  Chloris,  with  her 
freckles  and  inferior  clothes,  and  so  ordinary 
notions  of  conduct  and  taste,  running  away 
from  comparison  with  the  peerless  Cythe- 
rea ;  taking  her  envy  and  weakness  out 
of  sight  till  she  got  strength  to  disguise 
them. 

Now  the  scenery,  which  she  had  not  been 
seeing,  became  more  lonely  and  wild ;  the 
first  low  hills,  heavy  and  slow  in  the  general 
nimbleness  of  things,  shifted  themselves  with 
an  amiable  clumsiness  till  they  had  closed  in 
Chloris  with  her  train ;  waking  her  sudden 
ly,  with  a  faintly  happy  sense  of  diversion 
from  immediate  suffering,  to  the  feeling  of 
being  a  child  again  visiting  strange  coun 
tries.  Then  wheeled  and  tumbled  themselves 
about  and  came  to  meet  her  the  little  hills' 
big  brothers,  the  mountains,  with  velvety 
sides,  and  rocky,  rosy  summits.  A  weight 
for  no  reason  seemed  to  melt  away  from 
Chloris's  chest  as  she  looked  up  at  them, 
and  thought  of  living  among  them  now  for 
many  a  day — the  distinguished,  sage,  cool, 
sturdily  benevolent  ones,  so  high  above,  so 
224 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

far  from,  the  world  she  knew,  down  on  the 
hot-colored,  populous  plain. 

Here  she  was  at  last,  where  she  must 
alight;  in  a  high,  pure,  crystal-clear  atmos 
phere,  at  a  little  lost  place,  wildly  green  to 
eyes  used  to  the  sun-burned  shore,  forgotten 
of  all  the  world  but  this  train  that  remem 
bered  it  for  a  second  twice  a  day. 

And  here  was  Fidele !  It  seemed  to 
Chloris  she  had  not  half  known,  until  this 
moment,  how  fond  she  was  of  Fidele.  Tears 
sprang  to  her  eyes  on  meeting  the  familiar 
eyes,  and  she  embraced  her  old  school  friend 
with  an  impulse  of  overflowing  gratitude. 
She  felt  like  a  storm-beaten  lamb  come  to 
some  sort  of  shelter  at  last. 

After  the  first  moment's  frantic  clutch 
the  two  friends  stood  apart,  holding  hands, 
and  looking  each  other  fondly  and  frankly 
over,  with  wide,  moved  smiles.  Fidele,  see 
ing  Chloris's  eyes,  wondered  why  tears  had 
not  come  to  her,  too;  and  compared  her 
own  nature  unfavorably  with  her  friend's 
rich  nature ;  and  at  this  thought  of  her 
friend's  deep,  sweet  nature,  behold !  tears 
p  225 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

were  come  in  her  affectionate  eyes,  too. 
Then  both  girls  fell  to  giggling  like  school 
girls,  from  mere  association  of  this  meeting 
with  other  meetings ;  and  in  a  moment  were 
talking  lightly  and  inconsecutively,  in  an 
involuntary  imitation  of  old  days ;  and 
Fidele  had  taken  her  friend's  arm  tightly 
under  her  own,  intertwined  their  ringers,  and 
was  dragging  her  along  at  a  hop -and -skip 
pace. 

"  What  a  godsend  you  are  to  me !"  she 
exclaimed,  rapturously.  "  There  is  not  a 
soul  in  this  forsaken  place  to  whom  one  can 
talk  like  a  Christian.  Oh,  but  we  are  slow ! 
Oh,  but  we  are  primitive  !  Oh,  but  we  are 
simple ! — " 

"  What  air  it  is  !"  Chloris  breathed,  pro 
foundly.  "  How  sweet !  I  never  dreamed 
such  green  ! — My  dear,  this  is  Paradise  !" 

"The  air  is  good  enough.  The  grass  is 
certainly  green.  But  oh,  the  people  are 
green  too !  But  now  you  are  here,  we  will 
change  all  this,  dear.  What  a  holiday ! 
You  will  inspire  us.  We  will  rise  up,  and 
look  into  our  closets,  and  fetch  out  where- 
226 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

with  to  make  a  good  impression  on  the 
stranger.  You  bring  the  very  air  of  civil 
ization  with  you  in  your  clothes  and  hair. 
Where  did  you  get  it,  Chlo — the  general 
air,  you  know?  How  ravishingly  you  do 
your  hair !  And  that  little  hat !  Now, 
who  in  the  world  but  you  would  have  a 
hat  like  that?  Oh,  you  rare  darling!  Do 
you  know  you  are  greatly  improved  ?  You 
are  thinner,  but  it  suits  you.  You  always 
were  a  beauty,  you  know.  Yes,  you  were ! 
But  you  have  acquired  so  much  besides — 
such  an  interesting  air — yes,  you  have  ! — so 
much  expression.  No  one  could  see  you 
without  —  gospel  truth,  Chlo!  But,  yes — I 
will — I  will  hold  my  tongue.  Did  you  bring 
your  music  at  least,  for  there  is  a  piano,  such 
as  it  is.  Thank  Heaven  !  You  shall  make 
their  capture  with  song.  They  shall  grovel. 
You  know,  dear,  I  am  not  really  so  silly  as  I 
seem  ;  your  arriving  has  turned  my  head. 
I  always  did  adore  you,  but  it  is  even  bet 
ter  than  I  remembered." 

Chloris   that   night,  alone    at    last,  tried 
to  readjust  herself,  to  get  back  through  this 
227 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

new  experience  her  self  of  yesterday.  The 
morning  of  her  starting  from  home,  but  six 
teen  hours  removed,  seemed  withdrawn  into 
a  much  remoter  past  ;  a  screen  of  glittering, 
crumbling,  changing  color  was  arisen  between 
herself  and  it.  She  interrogated  her  breast 
curiously  for  that  pain  lately  grown  so  famil 
iar,  forgotten  for  the  first  time  only  in  these 
last  hours;  her  breast  did  not  answer  by  at 
once  producing  it.  She  goaded  it  tentatively 
with  a  sharp  memory  or  two ;  it  responded 
sluggishly  —  a  divinely  restful  torpor  was 
possessing  it.  She  knelt  by  the  window, 
and  looked  out  at  the  still,  strong,  black 
mountains  ;  instinctively  she  wafted  pro 
found  thanks  to  their  rude  majesties.  Far, 
far  away  in  her  dream  at  this  moment,  in 
an  infinitely  small,  sun-warmed,  murmuring 
plain,  moved  two  tiny  figures:  the  great 
Damon,  who  erewhile  filled  the  entire  hori 
zon  of  her  life,  and  the  great  Cytherea,  who 
interposed  her  fair  shape  between  her  and 
the  sun,  shutting  off  the  light  of  life — two 
tiny  black  figures,  in  a  far-off,  sunshiny  place 
it  fatigued  her  to  think  of.  Only  the  moun- 
228 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

tains  were  big  and  important;  and  this  cool, 
rough  bedchamber  was  fifteen  by  twelve; 
only  Fidele  and  herself  and  the  people 
seen  for  the  first  time  this  evening  were 
life-size  and  real. 

Stretching  her  tired  limbs  in  the  bed,  that 
had  nothing  to-night  in  common  with  the 
rack,  feeling  natural  sleep  creep  over  her  as 
it  had  long  not  done,  she  remembered  with 
a  vague  joy  that  she  was  young  ;  she  divined 
a  time  ahead  —  perhaps  not  so  far  ahead 
either  —  when  life  would  become  possible 
again. 

She  felt  as  if  cosily  tucked  in  and  kept 
warm  by  the  sense  of  Fidele's  affectionate 
appreciation,  and  the  evident  admiration  of 
her  friends,  called  in  even  on  this  first  even 
ing  to  greet  her.  It  was  good.  It  restored 
one's  lost  self-confidence. 

The  last  thought  Chloris  was  conscious  of 
was  not  for  Damon  this  once,  but  Demetrius. 
(Demetrius,  I  said.  The  reader  here  revolts. 
Chloris,  Cytherea,  a  Chloe  apparently  still  to 
come,  and  Fidele,  Damon,  Demetrius !  Are 
these  names  to  pass  off  on  the  discriminating 
229 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

reader  in  a  tale  that  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  times  of  Theocritus  or  Addison?  I  con 
fess  it,  I  would  have  deceived.  The  persons 
in  this  story  knew  themselves  by  none  of  the 
names  I  have  set  down.  They  had  been 
given  at  the  font,  and  had  by  chance  and  in 
heritance  come  into,  names  that  represented 
them  far  less  well.  Who  can  assume  to  fitly 
name  a  babe  in  arms?  With  a  pure  purpose 
I  rechristened  them.  If  you  could  know 
what,  for  instance,  was  the  real  name  of  Cy- 
therea —  But  enough.) 

On  the  next  morning  arises  Chloris,  con 
stating  with  thankfulness  that  no  more  than 
the  night  before  is  her  heart  bleeding  at 
every  pore.  Filled  with  a  venerable  feminine 
desire  to  still  increase  the  favorable  impres 
sion  she  is  sure  she  has  made  on  the  inhabi 
tants  of  this  high  hamlet,  she  does  her  hair 
more  than  ever  engagingly,  puts  on  her 
crispest  white  gown  with  the  lavender  rib 
bons,  and  her  broad  straw  hat  with  roses — 
the  hat  Damon  had  praised  in  the  early  part 
of  the  season.  Something  stirs  in  her  sleep 
ing  bosom  at  the  remembrance ;  she  pauses 
230 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

in  her  task  of  pinning  it  on  ;  the  green-gray 
eyes  with  the  brown  spots  grow  fixed  upon 
a  vision,  small  as  if  seen  through  the  wrong 
end  of  the  opera-glass :  On  a  shining  shore, 
two  little  figures  setting  out  in  a  sail-boat — 
only  two,  for  the  cousin  has  pleaded  the  dis 
agreeable  effect  on  her  of  the  motion  of  the 
sea.  Chloris  sits  down  discouraged,  feeling 
the  blood  drop  from  her  face,  and  her  heart 
present  her  with  as  finished  a  pain  as  ever. 
"  It  really  matters  so  very  little,"  she  mur 
murs,  firmly  restraining  from  wringing  her 
hands ;  "  I  only — only  should  like  to  know 
how  long  this  kind  of  thing  may  be  supposed 
to  last !" 

Chloris  and  Fidele  loiter  about  the  garden 
full  of  morning  sunshine,  snipping  off  wet 
sweet-peas  and  roses,  and  reminding  each 
other  of  things.  Then,  to  please  Chloris, 
they  go  for  a  stroll.  Chloris  is  eager  for  a 
little  climb.  Heated  and  pleasantly  tired, 
they  come  to  the  top  of  an  eminence  and 
sit  down  under  the  only  clump  of  trees,  in 
company  of  the  unbudging  horned  cows, 
who  know  their  claim  is  good,  for  they 
231 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

got  there  first.  Fidele,  leaning  against  a 
tree-trunk,  fans  herself  more  and  more  fit 
fully  with  her  hat,  and  presently  slumbers. 
Chloris,  with  her  head  in  Fidele's  lap,  can 
never  weary  of  looking  off  over  the  faint- 
hued  valley  which  the  shadows  of  clouds  soft 
ly  overstray.  In  this  delicious  bodily  relax 
ation  after  hill-climbing  in  the  sun,  strange 
peace  inundates  her  soul,  and  she  entertains 
a  superstition  that  it  is  flowing  out  to  her 
from  the  mountains,  and  lies  luxuriously, 
letting  herself  be  done  good  to.  "  They 
know  the  secret  of  peace,"  she  muses  in  her 
manner  of  a  girl.  "  They  cannot  speak,  but 
the  effect  of  their  knowledge  radiates  from 
them,  and  reaches  us.  The  end  of  all — of 
all  is  peace.  All  works  towards  it  inces 
santly,  as  one  sees  nature  do  towards  har 
mony.  Through  these  battles,  to  peace. 
Why  can  one  not  remember  it  down  on  the 
plain  ?"  Now  a  cloud  obscures  the  sun  that 
gropes  through  it  with  long  golden  fingers ; 
Chloris,  dreaming,  ponders  half  wistfully 
what  it  would  be  to  remain  here  always, 
begin  life  anew,  never  return  where  one 
232 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

had  suffered  so  much,  and  was  surely  so  lit 
tle  missed  ! 

On  their  way  home  the  girls  meet  Deme 
trius  in  his  chaise,  on  his  rounds.  He  reins 
in,  and  leans  out  of  the  leathern  hood  ;  with 
arms  alink  the  girls  stand  in  the  white  road 
below,  in  a  great  bath  of  light.  They  con 
verse  a  moment ;  Chloris's  lifted  face,  with 
the  stamp  on  it  still  of  her  high  thinking  on 
the  hill-top,  is  like  a  flushed  pearl  under  her 
rose-laden  hat. 

"  You  must  let  me  show  you  the  country," 
says  Demetrius,  before  driving  on. 

When  he  is  gone,  Chloris  and  Fidele  nat 
urally  fall  to  talking  of  him. 

"  How  is  it,"  says  Chloris,  "  that  a  man  so 
superior  has  attained  his  age  and  is  merely 
a  doctor  in  a  place  like  this?" 

"  My  dear,  we  have  our  ailments  like  the 
rest.  You  don't  grudge  us  a  good  doctor? 
He  was  born  here,  and  after  a  good  number 
of  years  down  in  the  haunts  of  men  came 
back  in  a  natural  sort  of  way.  His  father 
left  him  property  up  here.  He  is  not  ambi 
tious  ;  he  has  an  abundance  of  money.  He 
233 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

practises  more  or  less  for  the  love  of  it,  and 
something  to  do.  He  is  our  most  present 
able  man,  and  I  want  you  to  appreciate  our 
good  points  in  him.  He  adores  music;  the 
piano  I  spoke  of  is  his.  He  has  invited  us  up 
there ;  as  soon  as  you  feel  inclined  we  will  go." 

When,  in  a  few  days,  Chloris  consented  to 
go,  one-half  the  curious  population  went  with 
her,  to  hear  her  play. 

The  stiff  farm-house  parlor,  closed  nine- 
tenths  of  the  year,  had  been  made  to  breathe 
out  its  musty  ice-house  atmosphere ;  light 
ed  and  garnished  and  filled  with  guests,  it 
scarcely  recognized  itself. 

Demetrius  leaned  on  the  instrument  while 
Chloris  played,  his  untrimmed  head  dream 
ily  drooping,  his  eyes  half  closed,  like  a  lazy 
cat's  in  the  sunshine,  when  a  hand  is  stroking 
it  the  right  way.  When  she  had  finished, 
and  all  lifted  their  hands  and  praised  and 
questioned  her,  he  turned  away  with  a  sigh, 
saying  nothing;  and  yet  both  knew  that  the 
truest  music-lover  of  all  was  he ;  and  when 
she  played  again  it  was  chiefly  with  the 
thought  of  him  as  an  audience. 
234 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

"  What  an  air  of  intelligence  your  hands 
have  when  you  play,"  he  said,  later.  "  But 
it  is  the  same  when  you  are  crocheting,  or 
just  drumming  on  the  chair-arm.  They  look 
as  if  they  could  talk,  and  utter  such  wise  and 
witty  things." 

A  very  friendly  understanding  was  almost 
at  once  established  between  them  ;  after 
which,  he  being  such  a  sensible,  direct,  hu 
morous  man,  well  on  towards  middle  age, 
and  Fidele  urging  it,  it  seemed  but  proper 
to  accept  the  offered  seat  in  his  chaise  and 
see  the  country  to  the  best  advantage. 

They  travelled  many  leagues  behind  his 
mare  ;  they  reached  many  points  of  vantage 
from  which  to  look  off  at  the  view.  Their 
conversation  was  half  laughter ;  yet  Chloris 
felt  a  serene  security  in  the  awe  she  knew 
she  inspired. 

In  the  country  doctor's  company,  such  was 
his  effect  on  her  and  hers  on  him,  Chloris 
felt  always  sweetly  young,  and  unusually 
well-dressed,  unusually  beautiful  and  brilliant 
— as  well  as  experienced  in  the  ways  of  the 
world,  and  possessed  of  a  strong  and  compli- 
235 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

cated  character.  With  all  this,  something  of 
an  impostor. 

After  many  rides,  many  conversations, 
the  light  about  Demetrius  was  insensibly 
changed,  and  offered  him  under  a  different 
aspect.  What  genuine  kindliness  in  his 
rather  heavy  yet  well-featured  face !  what  a 
good,  sane,  comprehensive  intelligence  under 
his  shaggy  hair  !  and  under  his  country-made 
waistcoat  a  heart  suspected  to  be  tender  and 
faithful!  If  he  had  done  little,  risen  little, 
circumstances  were  more  to  blame  than  will; 
and  it  pierced  through  his  mockery  of  him 
self  sometimes  that  he  was  not  all  satisfied 
now  with  his  condition  ;  ambition  that  had 
slumbered  gave  signs  of  waking.  And  he 
was  still  young  enough  to  mould  his  fate  to 
a  different  shape. 

Chloris,  regarding  him,  as  she  told  herself, 
merely  in  the  light  of  a  specimen  in  which 
to  study  human  nature,  concluded  that  the 
woman  who  intrusted  her  happiness  to  De 
metrius,  at  least  in  the  event  of  her  being  a 
superior  creature,  would  be  in  the  main  a 
very  fortunate  one.  Nothing  to  fear  in  this 
236 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

man  from  inconstancy ;  no  account  to  make 
with  the  inflammable  imagination  of  youth  ; 
the  gracious,  condescending  woman  would  get 
unbounded  gratitude  from  his  humility  for 
every  little  favor  shown.  Her  life  would  be 
so  peaceful,  so  guarded  from  all  trouble  that 
care  can  keep  at  bay,  so  surrounded  with 
delicate  consideration. 

So  the  herds-grass  purpled  and  was  mown  ; 
the  mustard  yellowed,  and  its  yellow  van 
ished  ;  and  the  apple  began  to  redden. 
Then  Demetrius,  with  a  little  help  from 
everybody,  gave  a  party  —  a  party  the  like 
of  which  had  not  been  given  in  the  sleepy 
place  since  his  sister's  marriage  a  dozen  years 
before;  but  this  Chloris  from  afar,  as  Fidele 
had  foretold,  was  inspiring  the  natives. 

And  undoubtedly  she  was  the  queen  of 
the  party.  To  see  her  was  to  know  as  much. 
She  wore  a  grand  gown  of  pale  purplish  silk, 
with  a  real  lace  bertha  (the  talk  of  the  place 
for  nine  days  after),  and  white  flowers  pricked 
into  the  shiny  structure  of  her  hair. 

There  was  hired  music,  and  dancing  on 
the  waxed  kitchen-floor,  and  an  opportunity 
237 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

never  surpassed  in  the  annals  of  the  neigh 
borhood  to  get  enough  of  good  things  to  eat. 

Towards  the  end,  when  one-half  the  simple 
revellers  were  gone,  and  the  musicians  were 
silenced  with  feeding,  and  the  night  air 
breathed  in  at  the  open  windows  with  a  feel 
of  great  lateness  in  it,  came  a  petition  to 
Chloris  to  play  a  piece  on  the  piano. 

After  various  laughing  negatives,  yield 
ing,  Chloris,  whose  eyes  were  lightsome  and 
dancing  to-night,  pushed  away  the  stool, 
and,  substituting  for  it  a  chair,  sat  a  little 
sideways  in  this,  with  one  arm  over  the 
back;  and,  a  curious  little  smile  playing  on 
her  lips,  propped  her  ruffled  head  with  its 
wilted  flowers  on  her  right  hand  ;  and,  while 
the  country  innocents  exchanged  wondering 
glances,  with  her  nimble  left  hand,  amply 
sufficient  to  the  task  alone,  began  playing  a 
waltz — a  sweet,  dreamy  waltz. 

When  they  were  at  last  home,  and  Fidele, 
half  undressed,  had  come  in  to  chat  a  mo 
ment  with  her  friend,  she  asked,  "Did  you 
enjoy  yourself,  dearie  ?" 

"Immensely!"  said  Chloris.  "  How  nice 
238 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

they  all  are  to  me  !  What  dear,  kind  things 
they  are !  By  the  way,  though,  there  was 
something  I  wanted  to  ask.  Who  is  that 
dark-haired,  plump  young  woman,  with  black 
bugle  eyes,  and  a  skin  like  red -and -white 
paper — quite  passable-looking,  if  she  did  not 
look  so  sulky?" 

"What  did  she  wear?" 

"  Something  pretentious  but  unbecoming. 
It  had  a  lot  of  bead-trimming.  Now,  speak 
ing  of  how  nice  every  one  and  everything 
was,  I  except  that  girl's  manner.  She  was 
positively  rude.  I  did  not  know  how  to 
take  it.  I  have  met  her  before,  with  all  the 
others,  and  passed  her  on  the  road,  bowing 
my  best ;  but  we  have  never  more  than  ex 
changed  a  word  or  two,  so  I  can  have  done 
nothing  to  offend  her." 

Fidele  was  laughing. 

"  Who  is  she?"  asked  Chloris. 

"That  is  Chloe,"  replied  Fidele. 

"Chloe?" 

"You  mustn't  mind  her  rudeness,  dearie. 
She  is  really  a  good  sort  of  creature.     But 
she  is  no  doubt  sorely  tried." 
239 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

"  What  tries  her?     Why  do  you  laugh  ?" 

"  Demetrius !  He  was  a  shade  partial  to 
her  before  you  came — not  enough  to  cause 
comment  in  any  place  but  this.  And,  even 
here,  not  enough  to  lay  himself  open  to 
blame.  It  is  a  pity,  though,  that  she  can't 
keep  her  feelings  hidden,  and  must  vent 
her  spite  on  you.  Silly  thing!  I  have  no 
patience  with  that  kind  of  girl." 

Chloris's  fingers  became  absent  among  the 
hair  they  were  braiding.  She  looked  into  the 
lamp-flame  with  a  vacant  expression. 

Fidele  plied  the  brush  in  her  tangled  locks, 
and  went  on  chatting. 

Suddenly  Chloris,  who  for  some  time  had 
not  spoken,  laughed. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  asked  Fidele,  looking 
up  at  her  friend,  where  she  stood  still  staring 
in  the  lamp-flame.  "  Have  I  said  anything 
funny?" 

"  No,  it  was  nothing  you  said.  I  was 
thinking — my  mind  travelled  from  one  thing 
to  another — you  know  how  it  jumps  about — 
and  I  had  to  laugh,  before  I  knew,  at  a  stupid 
old  circumstance — " 

240 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

"  What  circumstance?" 

"  Oh,  nothing,  dear — a  thing  we  learned  in 
school,  in  French,  a  fable — never  mind  !" 

"  A  fable  !  My  dear  Chloris,  how  interest 
ing!  What  fable?" 

"  I  can't  quote  it.  I  have  forgotten  my 
French.  It  was  about  a  hare — a  hare  who 
ran  away  in  terror  of  a  bull,  and  in  his  flight 
came  to  a  swamp  where  the  frogs  were  just 
as  much  afraid  of  him.  Wouldn't  it  be 
interesting  to  know  the  rest?  What  the 
hare  did,  whether  he  put  on  his  fiercest  out 
side,  and  tried  to  make  the  frogs  quake  in 
their  little  wet  boots?" 

"What  nonsense,  you  dear  idiot!  Ask 
Demetrius!  He  will  give  hts  best  consider 
ation  to  the  frog  question,  and  be  impressed 
with  its  profoundness,  while  Chloe  wears 
bead  trimming  and  grows  sage-color.  Good 
night,  dear.  I  am  dreadfully  sleepy." 

"  I  mean  you  shall  take  me  to  call  on 
Chloe  some  day  soon.  Now  that  I  see  her 
face  with  a  different  idea  of  her,  it  is  a  nice 
face  !  Poor  child  !  I  could  never  settle  down 
contentedly  under  the  notion  that  some  one 
Q  241 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

disliked  me;  could  you?  Even  a  dog!  I 
have  had  such  a  happy,  peaceful  time  here, 
in  this  dear  little  place,  I  want  every  one  to 
feel  kindly  towards  me  when  I  leave." 

"  You  speak  as  if  I  were  going  to  let  you 
go,  Chloris." 

"  Oh,  my  dearest,  I  don't  want  to  talk  of  it. 
I  have  put  off  talking  of  it,  day  after  day, 
yet  you  must  know  that  I  can  only  stay  a 
very  little  longer.  Think  of  it !  I  came  for 
a  month,  and  I  have  stayed — how  long  is  it  ? 
And  father  must  be  getting  lonesome ;  and 
he  so  seldom  writes,  and  then  tells  me  little 
or  nothing.  And  everything  must  be  need 
ing  me — " 

"You  extraordinary  girl!"  exclaimed  Fi- 
dele,  now  very  wide  awake  ;  "  I  swear  I  abso 
lutely  do  not  understand  you  !  What  do  you 
mean?  First  you  seem  —  you  seem  —  and 
then — and  then  suddenly — " 

Fidele  could  not  get  out  her  words,  for 
Chloris's  hand  was  across  her  lips. 

"  Hush !"  she  pleaded,  quite  earnestly. 
"  Say  nothing  about  it !  When  a  thing  has 
been  spoken  it  seems  to  exist !  You  don't 
242 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

understand  —  I  don't  understand  either. 
Who  is  consistent?  Who  knows  what  he 
wants  ?  Who  knows  ever  what  he  is  doing  ? 
How  many  creatures  we  crush  just  walking 
across  the  grass !  A  path  opens  ahead,  we 
take  it  blindly,  not  knowing  whither  it  leads. 
With  good  reason  we  say  we  grope  in  the 
dark.  Let  us  have  the  grace,  then,  when  a 
moment's  illumination  is  granted  us,  to  go 
by  its  light.  You  don't  know  what  I  mean  ; 
I  scarcely  know  myself.  But  don't  try  to 
keep  me,  dear !  Remain  at  my  side  every 
minute  that  is  left  of  my  stay  here ;  see  me 
to  the  train  without  the  shadow  of  an  advent 
ure — and  I  will  love  you  all  my  life !" 

And  a  few  days  later  the  train  that  had 
brought  Chloris  picked  her  up  again,  all 
flushed  with  Fidele's  last  kisses,  and  flew 
with  her  homeward. 

She  looked  out  of  the  window  with  other 
eyes  than  those  she  had  first  turned  upon 
the  mountains.  Yet  tears  were  in  them,  too, 
as  she  said,  "Good-bye,  dears!  Your  little 
sister  leaves  you,  made  quite  well  again. 
But  never  will  she  cease  to  love  you.  You 
243 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

shall  be  always  in  her  dreams.  And  she 
will  come  back  one  day.  When  God  sends 
her  sorrows  she  will  take  refuge  again  with 
you." 

All  through  the  first  hours  of  being  rushed 
along  across  the  brilliant  fading  land,  that 
she  looked  at,  scarcely  seeing,  she  retained  a 
sense  of  exaltation.  She  seemed  to  herself 
as  a  sword  after  the  proofs  of  furnace  and 
ice-brook.  She  could  have  laughed  to  think 
of  the  philosopher  that  was  going  home  in 
place  of  the  pallid  victim  of  an  almost  patho 
logical  sensibility. 

The  mountains  were  dwindling  to  little 
hills;  the  latter -year  sun  was  too  barely 
bright :  a  crude  earth  -  color  and  a  sombre 
green  took  place  of  the  angelic  vague  green 
and  blue  and  pink  of  the  dewier,  earlier 
period.  The  plain  was  opening  with  its  more 
trivial  detail.  Chloris's  mind  descended  to 
its  level,  and  projected  itself  with  a  limited 
emotion  into  the  circumstances  of  the  ap 
proaching  home-coming.  She  felt  prepared 
to  endure  whatever  awaited  her  with  grace 
and  dignity ;  she  felt  sure,  indeed,  that  she 
244 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

should  feel  very  little.  "  I  have  learned  the 
secret  of  life,"  she  said  to  herself;  "I  have 
weighed  and  measured  everything." 

At  this  same  moment  an  elderly  gentle 
man  who  had  a  daughter  was  thinking  how 
touchingly  young  and  inexperienced  his 
fellow-traveller  looked ;  in  his  old  heart  he 
felt  sorry  for  her,  somehow,  for  being  so 
young. 

"  I  have  weighed  and  measured  every 
thing,"  she  said.  "  God  is  real,  God  lasts, 
and  the  love  of  Him.  Human  passion 
passes  away.  One  might  almost  say  that  it 
does  not  exist.  It  is  like  a  physical  pain : 
it  tortures,  you  try  to  locate  it,  you  fix  your 
mind  upon  the  presumed  seat  of  it — it  is  not 
there,  there  is  no  pain ;  and  presently,  when 
you  are  well,  you  cannot  call  up  a  remem 
brance  of  the  sensation.  I  feel  fitted  to 
write  a  book  on  this  subject.  I  thought  I 
could  never  endure  my  life  without  Damon 
— dear,  dear  Damon !  Yet  I  live  and  am 
improved  in  health.  And,  blinded  by  I  shall 
never  be  able  to  explain  what  mist,  I  was 
beginning  to  adapt  my  mind  to  the  thought 
245 


CHLOE,CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

of  life  with  Demetrius,  whom  I  pictured  out 
of  all  proportion  happy  and  grateful  to  me. 
Why  more  grateful  than  another  ?  Thank 
God  I  was  delivered  from  committing  such 
a  blunder !  Ah,  if  I  could  teach  Chloe  all 
that  I  have  learned !  But  she  does  not  need 
it ;  she  gets  what  she  wants,  for  beyond  a 
doubt  Demetrius  in  time  goes  back  to  her. 
I — I  am  armed  now  at  every  point.  I  have 
a  defence  against  every  circumstance.  The 
secret  is:  Nothing  matters,  but  God  above. 
And,  knowing  this,  I  mean  to  be  very  sweet 
to  all  at  home,  more  thoughtful  of  every  one,, 
more  generous  of  all  myself — " 

She  was  running  between  familiar  orchards 
and  fields ;  the  image  of  reaching  home  be 
came  very  present,  and  a  sweetness  pervaded 
her  rising  excitement  at  the  thought  of  touch 
ing  so  soon  the  home-hands.  The  mountains 
were  thrown  back  to  the  horizon  of  her  mind. 
Between  the  sandy  hummocks,  beyond  the 
level  salt  meadows  which  she  had  left  green 
and  found  russet,  she  caught  glimpses  of  a 
great  sapphire  line.  She  began  looking 
eagerly  for  the  farm-house  that  meant  she 
246 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

was  within  a  minute  of  her  journey's  end. 
It  flashed  past.  She  gathered  up  her  things  ; 
she  came  out  on  the  platform,  and  with  a 
joyous  heart  looked  for  her  father's  gray  face 
and  his  hand  extended  to  help  her  down. 

He  was  not  there,  and  she  got  off  the  train 
alone,  half-conscious  of  a  dog-cart  not  far, 
with  a  horse  behaving  as  a  horse  should  not 
at  the  locomotive.  The  superbly  indifferent 
iron  monster  puffed  off,  dragging  after  it  its 
train ;  the  indignant  horse  quieted  down. 
She  heard  her  name  called ;  the  voice  was 
the  man's  in  the  dog-cart,  it  was  Damon's. 
The  philosopher  hurried  towards  him  with 
an  insanely  beating  heart,  an  uplifted,  greet 
ing,  beaming  face. 

He  helped  her  in,  and  his  trickle  of  answers 
met  her  stream  of  questions,  and  her  stream 
of  answers  his  trickle  of  questions,  as  they 
jogged,  tilting  along  between  the  dusty  road 
sides.  The  warm  flood  of  her  home-coming 
sensations  subsided  a  little,  and  she  turned 
to  look  at  him,  to  take  a  fond  inventory  of 
his  face — dear  old  faithful  friend,  so  kind  to 
fetch  her  himself!  Her  heart  tightened. 
247 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

What  was  gone  wrong  with  Damon?  — 
Damon,  whom  she  had  been  picturing  so 
happy,  and  was  just  rousing  her  spirit  to 
question  casually  concerning  Cytherea. 
Even  at  that  moment  they  were  approach 
ing  her  dwelling,  when  the  question,  if  she 
could  make  her  voice  right,  not  too  indiffer 
ent,  nor  yet  too  interested,  would  seem  so  in 
place. 

The  grass  on  the  lawn  was  long  and  un 
even,  constellated  with  twinkling  autumn 
dandelions;  the  windows  were  shuttered, the 
veranda  was  empty,  the  chimney  smokeless ; 
a  forgotten  hammock  rope,  blackened  and 
twisted  by  the  rain,  swung  from  a  branch  in 
front  of  the  deserted  house,  thumping  faint 
ly  against  the  tree -trunk.  Chloris  turned 
her  lengthened  face  towards  Damon ;  he 
lifted  to  hers  a  pair  of  very  miserable  eyes, 
and  said,  in  an  unresonant  voice,  "  You 
should  have  got  back  in  time  for  the  cattle- 
fair.  It  was  better  than  usual  this  year. 
Cookson's  little  mare  took  a  prize." 

"You  don't  mean  it!"  faltered  Chloris, 
and  looking  straight  ahead  set  her  lips  hard, 
248 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

to  keep  down  an  impetuous  flood  of  hatred 
for  Cytherea. 

She  saw  the  propriety  of  continuing  to 
talk;  but  she  could  not  keep  her  mind  on  it. 
Damon's  powers  of  conversation,  too,  had 
failed  him.  He  kept  a  stolid  face  to  the 
horse's  head ;  and  they  drove  in  silence  to 
her  door,  where,  alighting,  she  was  swallowed 
in  a  sea  of  affectionate  fatherly  and  auntly 
embraces. 

"I  may  stay  to  tea,  mayn't  I?"  asked 
Damon,  dully,  from  his  corner,  where  he 
seemed  sitting  in  the  cold. 

Chloris  gave  him  a  place  beside  herself, 
and  treated  him  like  a  sick,  beloved  child ; 
but  so  tactfully,  he  could  know  only  that  it 
soothed. 

She  let  him  lie  on  the  sofa,  afterwards, 
while  she  played,  and  the  others  slept  in  the 
upper  chambers. 

She  played  with  upturned  face,  pale  and 
gentle  and  full  of  understanding;  her  eye 
brows  lifted,  her  eyes  very  large  and  kind. 
She  would  have  thought  that  Damon  slept, 
but  that  now  and  again  he  sighed. 
249 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

When  at  last  she  stopped  to  look  for  some 
thing  among  her  music,  to  go  on  with,  he  got 
up  and  came  to  the  piano-side.  "  I  am  so 
glad  you  have  got  back,"  he  said,  from  all  his 
heart ;  "  you  are  such  a  brick.  Good  Lord, 
how  I  have  missed  you — " 

He  turned  away  and  went  aimlessly  to  the 
window,  and  stood  looking  out.  "I  suppose 
it  is  time  I  went,"  he  said.  "  But  I  hate  to 
go  home  !  I  don't  know  what  is  come  to  me, 
I  can't  sleep  these  nights." 

Chloris  had  gone  to  the  window,  too,  and 
stood  beside  him,  her  indulgent  young  face, 
that  wore  a  world-old  expression,  turned  on 
the  dimly  glimmering  white  petunia -beds 
outside. 

"  Would  you — won't  you  come  out  for  a 
little  stroll,  Chloris?  Run  for  your  shawl, 
there  is  a  dear  girl,  and  let  us  go  over  to  the 
beach.  It  isn't  really  late,  and  I  am  so  rest 
less,  and  I  don't  want  to  go  alone,  and  it  is 
so  stuffy  in  my  room  at  home." 

Chloris,  without  a  word  of  demur,  took 
her  wrap  and  followed  him.  They  walked 
side  by  side  in  silence ;  the  sense  they  must 
250 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

have  in  common  of  the  beauty  of  the  night 
might  at  first  take  lieu  of  conversation  ; 
when  that  sense  must  be  outworn,  they  still 
thought  their  thoughts  in  silence.  Chloris 
knew  the  relief  it  is  not  to  pretend ;  Damon 
thought  only  of  himself  in  this  hour. 

It  was  she,  after  a  while,  that  led — tall, 
slender  figure  a  step  ahead  of  him,  walking 
swiftly,  with  a  sort  of  intrepidity.  With  his 
head  a  little  bowed,  his  hands  behind  him, 
he  followed. 

She  led  him  to  the  beach,  and  without 
regard  for  time  or  fitness  of  things,  farther 
and  farther  along  the  smooth  sands,  away 
from  home ;  then,  by  a  long  loop,  back  to 
the  homeward  road,  as  if  with  the  determi 
nation  to  tire  him  out.  She  herself  was  con 
scious  of  no  fatigue.  She  felt  like  a  spirit ; 
her  uplifted  eyes  seemed  so  expanded  that 
they  could  take  in  all  the  radiant  firmament. 

At  last,  as  if  awaking,  he  stopped  and 
vaguely  looked  about,  saying,  "  I  am  ready 
to  drop !  Good  Lord,  how  far  have  you 
been  taking  me  ?  Let  us  sit  down  a  moment 
and  rest." 

251 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

They  were  not  far  from  home,  on  the  edge 
of  a  familiar  pine-grove  that  ran  down  to  the 
lapping  inland  sea.  She  sank  on  the  dry 
pine-needles;  he  dropped  beside  her,  and, 
tearing  off  his  cap,  unquestioningly  laid  his 
head  in  her  lap. 

"  Does  it  ache?"  she  asked,  softly. 

"Yes,"  he  murmured.     "  Rub  it." 

She  passed  her  hand  with  a  measured 
motion  across  his  forehead,  pushing  up  the 
heavy  hair.  She  felt  his  face  for  an  instant 
press  closer  to  her  knees ;  volumes  of  grati 
tude  seemed  expressed  in  the  impulsive 
movement.  She  continued  her  stroking 
with  a  quiet,  sisterly  hand,  her  swelling  heart 
suddenly  choking  her.  She  had  him  back, 
that  she  knew  beyond  a  doubt.  Broken, 
disillusioned,  his  heart  seared  by  the  image 
of  another,  he  was  hers,  as  he  lay  there 
thinking  of  that  other.  Hers  to  help,  to 
heal,  to  make  love  her  as  much  as  she  loved 
him.  And  a  flood  of  human  passion,  the 
sensation  she  had  decided — God  forgive  her! 
— disposed  of  forever,  surged  in  her.  Her 
eyes  brimmed  over  with  happy  tears.  Why 
252 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

should  there  be  any  feeling  of  bitterness 
mixed  in  a  feeling  so  sweet?  Why  should 
the  hurt  to  one's  vanity  be  remembered  in 
such  a  situation  ?  Why  not  be  finally  glad 
to  give  more  than  one  received,  offer  some 
thing  whole  for  something  broken,  bless 
beyond  all  desert  ?  No — no — that  other 
could  never  have  loved  him  so !  Fate  had 
meant  well  by  him  in  putting  her  out  of 
reach ;  this  sorrow  of  his  should  pass  away 
and  be  as  if  it  had  never  been.  Chloris  felt 
in  herself  such  inexhaustible  wells  of  tender 
ness  and  patience,  she  knew  hers  was  the 
good  title ;  she  knew  she  could  be  sufficient 
— make  Damon  forget.  Her  heart  sang  a 
song  of  praise  and  victory,  while  her  hand 
smoothed  his  forehead  with  the  fancy  that 
it  brushed  away  the  image  of  Cytherea,  fatal 
line  by  line. 

Ineffable  fatigue  drew  her  down  from  high 
serene  thoughts  to  thoughts  nearer  earth. 
She  ached ;  waves  of  unnatural  sensation 
swept  through  her,  but  she  would  not  move. 
The  weight  of  his  dear  head  was  better  than 
ease. 

253 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

While  she  took  patience  till  he  should  be 
ready  to  rise  and  go  sensibly  home  to  bed,  a 
whimsical  image  formed  in  her  brain :  Her 
self,  and  to  one  side  of  her,  a  little  higher, 
Cytherea,  and  to  the  other,  a  little  lower, 
Chloe — and  beyond  Chloe,  in  the  descending 
line,  some  poor  woman,  not  pretty  or  winning 
at  all,  to  whom  Chloe  must  appear  a  half- 
divinity  ;  and  above  Cytherea,  in  the  ascend 
ing  line,  another  fairer  than  she,  for,  when  all 
was  said,  there  must  be  in  this  world  women 
even  fairer  than  the  great  Cytherea,  of  whom 
she,  perchance,  lying  awake  in  her  queenly 
bed,  would  think  with  anguish,  confessing 
herself  helpless  to  struggle.  Poor  Cytherea, 
then,  in  her  turn  !  Chloris  framed  a  sincere 
wish  for  her  continued  happiness,  and  that 
in  the  event  of  despised  love  God  should 
grant  her  to  become  a  philosopher.  And 
her  imagination  went  on  feebly,  whimsically, 
weaving.  Still  another  fairer  still  creature 
above  Cytherea's  victress  —  still  another  at 
the  other  end,  to  whom  the  envier  of  Chloe 
should  be  an  object  of  envy — and  so  on,  till 
the  chain  seemed  to  extend  from  the  seraphs 
254 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

down  to  the  last  of  the  most  degraded  race, 
and  take  a  slightly  humorous  aspect.  "  It 
pleases  the  powers  to  be  merry,"  thought 
Chloris,  and  was  conscious  of  no  irreverence 
in  the  conceit. 

"  Wake  up,  Chloris  !"  came  Damon's  voice, 
sounding  more  as  it  had  used  to  sound,  be 
fore  he  was  so  grown-up,  and  had  untoward 
things  happen  to  him  in  his  sentiments. 

"  I  have  not  been  asleep  !"  she  said,  sheep 
ishly,  "  except  below  my  knees." 

"  I  won't  contradict  you,  but  when  I  struck 
a  light  you  were  nodding  and  smiling  away 
to  yourself  like  a  little  China  mandarin. 
Have  you  any  idea  of  the  time  it  is?  Well, 
I  won't  enlighten  you.  What  a  crazy 
thing  we  have  been  doing!  Come,  dear, 
let  me  help  you  up.  I  hope  to  Heaven  you 
haven't  taken  cold.  Hello,  can't  you  walk 
straight?  What  a  brute  I  am!  Take  my 
arm—" 

And  laughing  weakly  and  wearily,  they  set 
out  staggering  across  the  dim  stubble-field 
that  separated  them  from  home. 

"Dear  old  Chloris!"   Damon   murmured, 
255 


CHLOE,  CHLORIS,  AND  CYTHEREA 

pressing  her  arm  to  his  side.  "  Best  girl  in 
the  universe !  You  can  never  think  what  a 
comfort  it  is  to  have  you  home  again.  I  feel 
more  like  myself.  I  think  that  to-night  I 
shall  sleep." 


THE  END 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


